Cat Revolution
by texasPanzer
Summary: Garfield, fed up of being with Odie, has finally announced a cat revolution!
1. Chapter 1

The Cat Revolution

Disclaimer: **_I do not own the characters of Garfield, Nermal, Arlene, Jon, etc. They are owned by Jim Davis and Paws Inc. I made this story following Civil War tactics and tried to simplify it as much as possible for those unfamiliar with it. Even so, I made this story entirely for entertainment and is not meant to represent anything, so no nasty reviews please. Enjoy._**

Munchie, Indiana, a small town of not much importance to many people in this nation, just a speck on a map. Yet, center in this small, quiet town, and you'll see it in a whole new light. One very upset orange tabby cat tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed near his bed box. "Where was that fool?" wondered Garfield as he impatiently waited for his owner, the hapless, yet lovable Jon Arbuckle, to come with his dish of cat food. He was late this day, up to three minutes thus far, and every second longer made him grow more and more irritable.

"This is the third time this week!" he muttered to himself, though no one was listening.

"Here you go, boy" said a cheerful voice emerging from the kitchen, a hand holding a plate emblazent with "Garfield."

"About time," his cat growled before partaking a taste of liver.

Jon heard none of it as he left, returning to the kitchen, coming back out with a similar plate labeled, "Odie"

"Here, boy!" Jon called out.

In response came a yellow skinned, brown ear pup with a long, slobbering tongue that was considered a deadly weapon to Garfield. Both quietly ate their meals, but Garfield noticed that Jon seemed to be paying more attention to Odie as of late. His meal was of larger quantity and quality than his liver, plus, he received treats in between meals.

"Why don't I get some?" he asked himself, forgetting that raids on the refrigerator counted as snacks in his books.

Even so, Jon did seem to be paying more attention to the dog over his cat. Why was that? How could a dog be drawing so much? A cat was by far superior to dogs in many aspects. WE clean ourselves, don't chase cars, we purr. There was much more Garfield was thinking, but that process was interrupted by a lovable cat call.

"Hi, Garfield!"

"Grrrr, how did you get in?" he growled.

"It's easy Garfield for one so cute. The doors just open for you!"

A heavy silence hung over the house. Like a panther stalking it's prey, Garfield was keeping close tabs on this Odie and Jon throughout the remainder of the evening, noting how the two were fondly attached to one another and that no mention of including Garfield into their activities was uttered. Further enraged, Garfield stomped around his bed, thoughts buzzing through his mind like a hive of irate honey bees. It has gone of too far. Too long have humans and dogs been together, man's best friend. HA! Spit on it. It should be cats as the dominating creature of this world.

Sensing that something was amiss, Nermal confronted Garfield, pleading to let good senses win this day, "Garfield," pleading to him, "why must you fight over something like this?"

"It's the principle of it all, Nermal!" he roared.

"What principle? So Jon is giving Odie some more attention. And so what if he missed your meal by a few minutes, with that load you carry, you can stand to miss it by a few hours!"

Pushed to the breaking point, Garfield roared loudly then stomped out of the house, leaving the three to toil in thoughts and doubt. Where was he going? Only one knew. Moving through the dank alleyways of Munchie, Garfield knew he wasn't alone in his thoughts. "For far too long have dogs been in our way," he roared, "For far too long have humans been in our way." This wasn't about being dominating as being pets for humans, this was being masters of the masters. How could a dopey human like Jon be considered the dominating species if he could not even style himself properly.

"It won't be like this any longer! I won't stand for this!" Hearing his rant, cats from all around flocked to see this cat whom climbed onto a fence post and began an orientation, stating his stand on this issue. "For far too long have we been forced to dress in ridiculous clothing, forced to eat scrapes from the table, and listen to sickening baby talk. Why must we take pats on the head from humans whom do nothing to deserve to be patting us!" Agreements went all around. "I say now, we take control. Now is the time we rise up together, and seize the opportunity!" A mighty cheer rang out. "With us in control, humans will finally realize that they cannot control nature like they think. Nature controls them!"

Stepping down, Garfield had messengers move throughout town, spreading his word of revolution. And it did. From lodges to homes, strays and litters, revolution was all on everyone's mind. Was it time? Certainly seem so. Returning home in twilight, Garfield found everyone asleep, including one Nermal in his bed.

"Get out!" kicking his box, sending Nermal flying.

Next morning, not a human sensed what was unfolding around them. It was quiet, too quiet around town. Alley ways were completely vacant. Domesticated left home. Where were they? Lodges and assemblies were being made underground, in basements. Leaders were plotting for their groups on what they should do with this revolution. Each group had their own agenda, one wanting to top another. However, one item was unanimous, Garfield should lead it. Coming home that night, Jon did not suspect a thing as his cat muttered to himself, "just a few more days."

Next night, returning to his fence, Garfield again began to call up his fellow felines. Degrading that of canines and their role in the universe. Every slip up that Jon made, he would talk about it. How, at dinner, he would be after AFTER Odie was, which was seldom, yet neglected to clarify. "Is a dog more superior than a cat? Then why must they be feed before us?" he asked them. No one answered, hushed crowd, "I'll tell you why, because the fools need to eat first before we kick them out and eat the food ourselves." Laughter erupted. "It's survival of the fittest!" Entire alleyways were jammed packed as his orientations began to grow in popularity. Fans saw him as a savor, others as a leader, but spies in their ranks saw him as a trouble maker. Hox was his name, a shabby black and white kitten was what are called, "galvanized dogs" or one that turns. A defector. He was a spy in Munchie, keeping tabs on cats despite tight security, he managed to slip in and listen to Garfield up close, sometimes at arms length. Memorizing everything, Hox would then transmit messages to head quarters in the state capital. Hearing of a possible insurrection, especially one so close to base struck hard to the dogs. Not stupid mutts as cats were led to believe. If they only knew what was really happening in their absence. Cats and dogs have been going at each others throats for centuries, trying to win the affection of humans. But, this war, which was coming, there was no stopping it, was to be different. It was for total domination, cats above all others. Worried of being caught up in the revolution, Hox fled town, failing to raise the alarm to others that he left behind, sealing them to a horrible fate.

Only June 29, as he dismounted his podium after a lengthy orientation calling for abolition of doggie tongues, a group of rough cats offered their services as his personal body guard. Looking them over, Garfield found them to be rather rough looking. One of them, their supposive leader was a yellow short hair Siamese with wide blue eyes. Accompany him was a roughed haired, dirty, no tail mix known as Dunce. However, no one questioned his muscles. The other was Geraldo, a short, roughed up, alley cat of a great mind.

"Excellent, for I have plans that would require your assistance," he smiled at them.

Night came, Jon was asleep, lying at the foot of the bed was Odie, with Nermal alone in the living room, using Garfield's bed for slumber. An abrupt crash, the door came flying in. Stunned at first, Nermal was overwhelmed by goons whom carted him away, unable to resist. Then Jon was dragged out of his bed, his hands digging into the carpet. Where were they taking him? Easy, to the basement where they were thrown down the stairs, all windows and doors barred and locked. But Odie slipped through their fingers, extracting an escape through a window. Not bad for a dumb mutt. To Garfield, it didn't matter, two of his biggest threats were taken car of.

"Garfield! Let me out of here!" protested Jon. Obliging, his cat opened the door to the basement, two of his guards behind him, "Garfield, what is the meaning of this?"

"Easy, you fool. We're taking over!" Garfield said onto him causing Jon to nearly faint in shock.

"You...you...can talk! Wow, this is so cool..."

"Cool for us, because now all those in the world will see that cats, not humans, are dominating," with that, he slammed and locked the door.

Perhaps Garfield was going to fast? Perhaps he may have gone too far? Who could tell? Garfield did not look back, reconsider, even try to negotiate He felt something never felt before. Direction and power, an untold amount of it. Greedily he felt moved. Fuse was lit and simmering towards the keg of revolution. Two prisoners have already been taken, now more were wanted. For this last night of peace, cats stalked around in the dark, searching for targets and for one another. One of those was Arlene, Garfield's rather distant girl friend. Sleeping uneasily in a moist cardboard box, she was awoken by a chatter between two other strays about how a fat orange tabby imprisoned his owner and a kitten whom was branded a traitor. It could only be one cat that would do that, Garfield. Arlene had never attended one of his lecture, though he insisted before to do so. "It would be a wonderful experience," he gloated. But, she took it as one of his vanity trips and remained isolated as she always did, that is until that night. Approaching Garfield's home in the dead of night, she slipped into the back kitty door via the kitchen and into the family room which had since been transformed into a map room complete with staff members whom were stunned to see her. What did she want? Was she a spy?

"I want to see Garfield!" she demanded, "And I won't leave till I do," crossing her arms.

Her stance brought up the leader, whom held audience with Arlene in Jon's former room. Down stairs, staff members could only hear muffled voices as the two former lovers went at it:

"How dare you plead on their behalf. Nermal is a traitor and Jon is..." he bellowed.

"A traitor? To what?" she asked.

"My, I mean, our revolution!" pounding a fist into a cupped hand.

"So it's true. You have gone crazy." Arlene sobbed.

"I have not! And, I will not tolerate this level of dissidents in my head quarters. Join me and I may forget this."

"Never!" she yelled.

"Then I have no choice" he hissed, gesturing for his guards to enter the room, seizing Arlene whom did not resist, overcome with grief. Thrown down with Jon and Nermal the three huddled together as the cold, dank basement went dark again. Quietly, the three waited for an approaching light that signaled for all those whom heard the call for rebellion to rise up. All were waiting for those words, the words to begin. No one took heed to the nervousness of their dogs, whom wanted to leave the homes late at night or in early morning when a heavy mist hung over the region. Why? To leave. Days past, one, two, three. Tension was waning high over Munchie as large numbers of cats began to flock to the Arbuckle house. Foreigners, ones from outside. Hearing calls for an overthrow, hundreds flocked, pledging alliance to Garfield. A smile came to his face, he sensed victory before battle ever came. Waiting for his word were dozens of groups, hungry panthers ready to pounce at key points in town. All was right, just timing. Had to time it right. When? A weekend perhaps? Hmmm, a day where people were most lax, Monday. Only one fear constantly hung in his mind, spies, traitors. No knowledge of Hox was ever dug up, however, he feared those such as Nermal and Arlene would influence others to turn against him, thus, his goons kept a tight reins on unruly bunches. Those considered to be talkers were interrogated, sometimes horribly for hours at a time with no food or sleep. No such traitors were ever found. That's because they never existed. It was just a figment in their leader's imagination. With such power came lack of control and his need to harness it. No one took heed at first, but steadily, his grasp on reality was gradually slipping.

At his last speech prior to the attack, Garfield told his comrades, "Justice is on our side. Now, my fellow felines, we go to war! Whom is with me!" Their roar was unanimous and could be heard for miles. He has his army, now Garfield had to arm it for their conquest. "Now my glorious army, march into town, take every weapon you can get your paws on, and then, we will form up and continue on! Take no prisoners!"

Humans in Munchie were up at this time, browsing, shopping, going about their business. No one suspected that petting their kittens could spark a war. Without warning, alley cats jumped delivery trucks, house cats locked doors, imprisoning former owners inside. Quietly, one by one, homes were taken over. There was no trumpet announcing it, no great leader standing on a podium, just sporadic attacks that netted prisoners and goods that gradually grew into intensity as the hour passed. At first, no one noticed, then some frightened individuals, slipping away from their captors, sprang to the streets, yelling that their cats are trying to kill them. Laughing it off as sheer madness, people disregarded their only warning. Then it began to literally rain cats and panic gripped the town as cats began to spill out onto the streets, ripping down humans left and right. Shops were looted of anything of value. Foodstuffs, litter, candies, were taken out, shopkeepers were chased through alleyways as homes were stripped. Cats turned on their owners for years of prolonged abuses over every shape, from disgusting costumes, to mimicking cats themselves, and senseless baby talk. It was enough to drive them mad.

Resistance was virtually nonexistent on part of humans, whom were taken completely by surprise through this insurrection. Though many escaped by fleeing in cars far outside of town, some were not so fortunate and were ganged up on in dark alleys or in streets in their flights, never to be seen again. For hours, buildings were gutted and razed all over town. Some were homes, others were abandoned buildings to some cats was homes with bitter memories. Brandishing torches in a scene from Frankenstien, hordes of cats converged on the Mayor's house, demanding to see him. When the 50 year old, salt and pepper haired, man reached his front gate, cats climbed over and tackled him, spouting to have the entire town surrender to their order. When he refused, the mayor was dragged and submerged face first in a container of litter.

It went on for hours, though Garfield himself had nothing to do with the actual looting nor did he make any effort to stem it. Instead, the feline, and his entourage, laid back in his home as recruits filtered to him, asking for direction. An unspecified amount of time has since elapsed as hundreds of more came by, bringing with them, booty, prisoners, and weapons of all sorts. All was well, thus far. But the cats wanted more. If it were to be a conquest, Garfield needed food and weapons for his growing army. Factory foundations were in town, most made car parts, might be suitable for weapons, if only there was a work force for it. Farms also had to turn over large quantities of their stocks to feed them. By this time, most cats had no weapons, those that did had only clubs or home made weapons. In his first general order as leader of the revolution, Garfield ordered the construction of slingshots. Shops having such weapons were pillaged and weapons were issued with large metal BBs. Woefully inadequent as it seems, it did better their position handling prisoners. Most were thrown in with Jon, Arlene, and Nermal, but that quickly filled to beyond capacity. During the day, temperatures soared to 105 degrees, people began to pass out. Arlene tried to plead to deaf ears for windows to be opened for ventilation and water. Garfield ignored them, they were prisoners and will be treated as such. Any guard caught giving aid to them would be shot on sight.

In his head quarters, Garfield also began drawing up papers to better organize his followers into a semblance of an army instead of having an unruly mob on his hand.

"They want order, they need order," he told his staff, "And I shall give it to them." Following text from his Civil War novel, Garfield jotted down on paper his "Provisional Cat Army." He needed first a test unit, someone that he could subject to pressure of daily military grind to see if cats could handle themselves on the battlefield. Garfield long desired a contest of arms against dogs. Not the guerilla style, small, close quarter battles nowadays, but a heavy engagement in open fields where hundreds if not thousands would fight in a do or die battle. The winner would conquer all. That's what he wanted, an easy win. However, as he delved further into organizing, Garfield was finding it difficult to control them. Strays, long use to going about their own way, did not listen well to orders, and domesticated ones were bitter against the latter as being woefully inadequate, even inferior. Tension rose as Garfield selected his first regiment of infantry. Labeled simply as _1st Infantry_, these 1,000 heads were led by a long haired Persian named Zoos, a domesticated from a well to do family in town. Strong in language and of taste in Italian food, much to Garfield's liking, he handled his command with severe discipline, often beating a stick against those whom fell out of line. The two met when Garfield was giving his lectures on the fence post and immediately became friends. Zoos longed to break away from his masters, whom neglected his true feelings of freedom, to play in grass instead of on carpets and posing for pictures. A strong avocat of rebellion, Zoos asked for and received command of the 1st, though he had little to no knowledge of how to led combat troops, but was willing to try.

Now that one regiment was taken care of, Garfield needed three more to complete an entire brigade. There was plenty of heads to form them, just, he trusted no one to command them. Strays most of them were, rouges, mavericks. It would be slaughter if they had their way. Outside of Arlene, Nermal, and Pooky, Garfield had few, if any, friends that he trusted. It all seemed hopeless. Many stepped forward, asking to take command of his army, but he shun them away. Precious hours ticked away as the indecisive commander thought long and hard, eventually coming down to three, all of whom he barely knew. One was Coleman, a street cat with a lot of smarts on stealth and fighting. He was born and raised that way and many thought of him as a ticking time bomb, constantly muttering or arguing with himself when no one was around, covered in cuts and sores, but Garfield liked him for being aggressive. Then there was Samonsite, named for that by his master, a luggage manufacture in town. Know to most as Sam, this cat also processed smarts, carrying with him a calm and quiet demeanor. Last but not least was Lig. Rather odd name that he joked was part of something longer, but didn't want to have to write it all the time. Lig was an American short tail, and unlike the others, was strong in appearance to his muscular shape that greatly attracted Garfield, whom wanted his officers to be strong and intimidating to all those whom try and oppose them. Before the end of the first day, the _1st Brigade of the Provisional Cat Army _was formed. Four thousand volunteered filled their ranks in moments. A great surge was still in the air about this revolution, and they wanted more. Now he had his army, or part of it, Garfield realized a serious flaw, he had no training on combat. Though wanting an open field engagement like Napoleon, he didn't know how to fight that way, and certainly his troops didn't know either. Rummaging through Jon's bookshelf, he ripped out all military books he could find, only turning up just one, _The Civil War. _

"This is how we'll fight" he told his officers, "Follow these instructions and use whatever means necessary to hold you soldiers in line, and we will accomplish anything."

For a better part of a week, cats doled in and around the Arbuckle house. Soldiers drilled, learning how to use their new fangled muskets, loading and firing dryly at first, then live. It was a true inspiration to see companies marching in line. Zoos would follow behind them, slapping stragglers with the back end of a stick. It was his discipline, Garfield thought, that would win us this war. All seemed to be going well for the cats. Food was abundant, there was little for them to do other than hassle prisoners and construct road blocks. All phone lines were cut, thus severing Munchie from the rest of the world. To further add to their advantages, no one took notice for some time, yet, word spread to all other cats to join them, or spring up their own revolutions elsewhere.

"All is right with the world," Garfield smirked as he laid down to bed after fore filling his life long ambitions. Munchie was under his control, now he wanted more and had everything he needed to do so. "Munchie was good, but the capital is better," meaning state capital. Starting first thing in the morning of the 1st Day of July, his army, consisting of just two brigades of infantry, with more well underway, would begin their march towards the captial. All that stood in their way was a small suburb laying on the hub of several rail and roadways leading directly towards it. It was vital to take, couldn't bipass it, had to take it. In his sleep, Garfield kept mutering those lines over and over again.

"Have to take it, couldn't bipass it"

That night, it was becoming unbearable to stay underneth any more. Jon was driving his occupents crazy with songs. Combined with untolerable heat, lack of food and water, and knowing what Garfield was up to, Arlene had tried to work out bars covering the windows. Iron, couldn't free them. Drat. Guards barred the door, no other way out.

"Yell, perhaps this is a time to sing my favorite polka song," Jon suggested.

Arlene groaned, covering her ears. Wait. "Yes, do that. Sing, sing to your heats content!" she nudgedd Jon whom obligued.

"Well, my cat is on a rampage..."

Defying such horrid words, Arlene began to feel her way along the brick work. Noticing this, Nermal joined in.

"What are you looking for?" Nermal asked.

"A loose brick then we can tunnel out."

Watching them, other occupents began to join in, most with better tone, drowning out all other noise as a loose brick was finally located and jinxed out. Using only her paws in the moist, loose soil, she commenced digging immediately. Nermal dug out a bucket to help collect it all, handing it to fellow prisoners whom disposed of it by throwing them into washer machines. If guards caught a wiff of an escape attempt, it could be the end of all of them. Persistant through the night, Arlene dug at least ten feet to her estimate. She didn't want to go far, just enough to get onto the yard or close to the fence.

Dawn came, a heavy mist hung over the countryside as cats of the 1st Brigade were shook awake, ordered to fall in. Time to march. It was a rather odd order. Only a week into training, they had just learned how to load their muskets, and marching in line was a feat to be desired. Even Zoos was speculating on his order. March? His soldiers had eaten their meals, prefering to march with just their weapons and ammunition that came in a small leather bag hung over their shoulders. There was not much in fact in there, just a few shots, hopefully enough if battle ever came. Watching from his doorway, Garfield himself witnessed as Zoos commenced his march, starting off on the road, then marching off onto a field and gradually declining into the country side. Flapping in a light breeze was there colors, made by Zoos himself whom wanted everyone for miles around to know whom they were. Four flags, one for each unit, 30 inches by 30 inches, rather large compared to those whom carried it, with a clover green field. Stamped dead center was a large, black cat's paw, and embroidered underneath, in fancy writing, was their respected regimental name, _"1st Infantry" _in yellow.

As they disappeared over the horizon, Garfield sank into his chair, overlooking his map. A pencil line had been drawn from Munchie to the capital, a distance of a mere 30 miles by road, only 23 miles by country side. It would take at least two days before his cats would reach the suburbs, that's if they weren't ambushed by dogs, which he shook off with laughter.

Hearing a loud departure, Arlene took it upon herself to make good with her escape. There was no order or general organization. She wanted out, now. All those whom wanted to join her were welcomed but they would be on their own once out. She had her own agenda. Looking at the hole, it was discovered to be much too small for a human. Still, Arlene resumed digging upwards, finally breaking onto turf. Guards nearby were distracting by observing Zoos's departure. Now was the only chance to get away. Ripping out a hole big enough, she lifted her weak body out. Close to the fence, which was once a white picket fence now tattered when wood was removed for fire. Have to get away now. Her flight began with a hobble. Legs were weak. Lack of water and no food.

A sudden cry caught her attention, "Hey, wait for me!"

Looking back, there was Nermal, trying to force an escape. Returning, Arlene ripped the kitten right out of the ground like a turnip.

"Whoa, you're strong!" said Nermal.

"Run!" Arlene replied.

Together, both ran through a gap in a fence and disappeared. It wasn't long till guards happened onto the hole. But by then, who knows how many prisoners had escaped.

Odie, Nermal, and Arlene escaped his clutches. Whom cares? Garfield actually laughed it off. Slight losses. Nothing of significance. "Those three can't stop my juggernaut," he told his staff.

One was a stray, another was a gray football, and a third was a dim whited pup that could do nothing better than slobber on himself. Seeing himself nearly drowning in other prisoners, Garfield came to the conclusion that those left behind should be put to work to feed his empire. Under close guard, factories were put back into production, shoving out weapons. Vehicles were now being driven by human drivers to shuttle officers here and there, and Jon was pressed to be Garfield's personal chef, not much of a boost in his life. His house was converted now into Garfield's head quarters with housing for staff upstairs in what was Jon's room, sand bag walls emplaced all around and sentries placed on the roof. Everything was tight to ward off any potential guerilla attack. It was a constant fear that this tabby would be put down by a bomb or some other cowardly attack than die on a field of battle or die old in the glory days of his empire. Or so they thought.

Gasping, panting for breath, hungry, thirsty, Odie came crawling into the suburbs, onto the corner of a street, completely exhausted, dying from exposure. Residents in these tightly packed homes were unobservant at first, it was fellow dogs that found him. Carrying his limp body to a garage, given a bowl of water, Odie began to recover somewhat. Cut up, dry skinned, weary eyed, he lapped at the cool water, enough to quench his thirst, then fell asleep where he lay, the words of warning at the tip of his tongue, but unable to escape.

Back in Muncie, Home Guards stood vigilant over the many road blocks, baring all transportation in and out of town. Occasional motorists would fall into their hands, failing to grasp the comprehension that felines have taken over, therefore, adding to a growing collection. For one week, the revolution was solid. To Garfield's knowledge, there was no problems, everything was running as smooth as cheese on lasagna.

Night fall came, for those in the field, they bedded down in an open prairie. It was a cool, moist night, promising to be so again in the morning. No need for tents or blankets, they were cats, they were born with it. Just ten miles short of their objective and food being abundant after raiding a nearby home, chasing off it's occupants in a frenzy. A party was well underway with meows and cat calls echoing across the land as milk was being downed by the gallon. Zoos and others held tight reins on them, no brawls took place this night. Dining together, soldiers exchanged rumors. There was talks of similar overthrows already underway in different states and countries all over the world, but these were unfounded at the time, just rumors perking up by spirits.

Rolling in delight himself at Mayor's Manor, Garfield partook great delight in fancy meats and treats along side his guard and closely assembled bunch of advisors pointing out vital points in this operation. Hershey, a chocolate brown stray nervously sat at the opposite end of a long table. It came to his turn to give a daily report on quotas and suggestions. Not wanting to stall, Hershey marked that there was no longer a hospital to treat prisoners nor wounded, when the war began. Therefore, he asked for permission to have a new one constructed with proper staff and supplies.

Garfield scoffed, reclining in his seat, legs crossed and elevated. He stared right down towards Hershey, a piece of fish dangling lightly from the tips of a cocked arm, inches from his closed mouth. Piercing eyes were trying to shake down this cat for all he's worth. Everyone felt a sense of uneasiness. Was Hershey wrong? Did he anger Garfield in some way? Goons were standing nearby, waiting for orders to dispose of him. Wasn't necessary, not this time.

"I believe that's an excellent idea, Hershey" he said, breaking the tension that hung in the wide open room. "See to it that the hospital has everything it needs. Nothing is too good for our soldiers."

Nodding heads all around, Hershey breathed a great sigh of relief. A weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Now it came to Gold, a shinny Siamese advisor to quarter master, or supply. He noted that there was enough rations to feed his army, now number just shy of 9,000 for one year. Gold spoke with perfect English, direct and authoritatively. Quite differentfrom others sitting around the table. Felix, Sierra, and Xenia to finish off the list. Respectively, they over saw military, foreign relations, and city. With a lax ear, Garfield listened to Gold as he placed down the numbers to improve his stance. Others listened to her, Gold had a wicked tongue, slipping compliments the tabby's way every other word.

Felix later submitted that his army be revamped in numbers. One brigade was nice, but more was needed and for different fields. Artillery, cavalry, even armor. That brought laughter to the dinner table. Tanks? How in the devil could cats operate tanks? Tiny tanks? Little remote control ones? Garfield was nearly rolling around on the floor, his gut hurt, it was hilarious. Others nervously joined in his laughter. It sounded funny.

"Wait...wait...(wheez) cough...see to it that one tank is made, it was to see it" Garfield dictated to Felix. That settled, he asked what was happening elsewhere besides his Yorktown campaign. Apparently not enough. Some groups from other settlements were filtering in, but not enough to form his new regiments. reading over his book again and again, Garfield had knowledge now that he should expand in every direction if he wanted to gain more control. Sure taking Indianapolis was a great feat, however, he needed to secure supply lines and protect his base, plus seize vital areas. All of this was being taken down by Felix on a notepad, to this humble cat, Garfield was a genius and he looked up to him,

Gradually, the party whined down to a dessert prepared for by Jon of ice cream sundaes.

"Stick with me, people, and you'll live like kings," said their leader whom wolfed down his treat in an instant.

Morning came, 1st Brigade cats wereawoken from their drunken slumber, fall into line, roll call given, then their march resumed, their target was the next city just a few miles away over open country, yet well out of sight of malingering eyes. For over a week, n hint of an overthrow had reached human ears outside of Munchie, not yet.

His eyes painfully opened, playing out onto a small, crowded garage. Boxes were stacked three high, blocking out all windows. Only one door invited exit, and that was guarded by one shaggy mutt, with long brown hair, large brown eyes, and floppy ears. Rising up on his own fours painfully, Odie asked to where he was.

"suburbs" replied the guard, "we found you passed out on a sidewalk."

Rejuvenated, Odie began to tell his guard all about how Jon, his owner, was captured by his friend Garfield, and now cats have taken over his home town. Stunned, the guard called in others, including his leader a tall, strong German shepherd named Dilger, whom controlled a local lodge of German descendent canines. Together, this floppy eared began to tell that this cat had lost his mind and taken over. Alarmed, Dilger called all of his constituents together for an emergency meeting. Unlike other lodges which were little more than excuses for parties, Dilger's Home Defense Company was a tough group of street wise dogs that were counter intelligence, Hox was one of his leads. As for the past few days, there was a gap in intel and Dilger was desperate to know what was happening.

"Raise the alarm. Break out weapons. Form your platoons. Leaders, meet me at Bean Hill," said Dilger to all those in the garage. Staring back at him were his followers, brave, loyal, and true. All were intelligent, organized, and ready despite Garfield's claim.

"Our homes are being threatened. Now is our time to show what real dogs can do," said Dilger to a roar as everyone filed out, picking up weapons and ammunition as they went. Being last to leave, Odie stopped Dilger, he wanted to join the fight or he could warn other lodges.

"This fight that's coming, is too much for a mere pup to handle. You will be of much better use to stay here in town." Odie persisted, he wanted to fight, willing to do anything. Dilger would have none of it. It was simply too dangerous. Defeated, the pup slunk away into the alleyways when a person, clothes ripped head to toe, covered in cuts, sores, and sun burned skin and frizzled hair, came running down the street, yelling with a hoarse voice, "All is lost. Chaos! Chaos! Cats! Cats everywhere!"

"Darn" muttered Dilger whom wanted secrecy to avoid alarming humans whom were prone to panic at the drop of a hat. Once it fell, a series of events caused a complete stand still in Yorktown. Humans were trying to get out going one way, and dogs doing the same except in another. Hearing all this commotion, various lodges, gangs, and homes began to empty. A large bell housed in the town's church tower, which had not been rung in fifty years, was hit three times in rapid sucession, a secret symbol for a call to arms for the militia. It was time to defend homes and masters. Though lacking significant arms, most went into battle with just their claws and teeth, figuring that it would be enough to quell this and "put cats back in their place."

Homes were being boarded up and emptied, humans were in a complete loss as dogs slipped out quietly to form up in little units with colorful names such as "Bruiser Bunch, Wild Dogs, and Kitty Crunchers." Such names were cute to label, question was though, could they fight? Unlike their opponents, dogs did not have considerable training to fight cohesively, or together, with other groups. To fight as one gave better chance of survival, but rivalries between different ethinics and class caused a rif that was too Garfield's benefit. Rifles or any other fire arm were in seriously supply, in fact, only Dilger's company carried them. Many lugged about with clubs and stones. Leaders were adamant that they could win with "Just our teeth and claws." Sounds defiant, however Odie nipped at anyone that would listen. To where they were going was inviting certain death, even he knew it. Dilger was going, but he stood a better chance, others were simply following where everyone else was. It was madness. He tried everything to get their attention, to stop and listen, but no one did. In fact, some wanted to have this pup shot for cowardice. Knowing he wasn't wanted, Odie slipped out of town, out onto a valley road where no one was around. Where would he go? No relatives or friends. So he thought.

"Hey, there's Odie" it was a familiar voice.

Turning about, up came Nermal, frail and pale, but still packing spunk, the kitten charged and wrapped his arms around the pup. Close behind was Arlene, carrying a bag of fruit.

"Hi, Odie" said Arlene, "You escaped from Garfield too?"

Odie nodded his head affirmatively.

"He's coming this way. Where can we go?" she asked.

Odie shrugged. No one in Yorktown wanted to be with him, and Arlene and Nermal were cats, and might be shot for spies. It was best to move away from the battle, perhaps to Indianapolis. Both his compatriots concurred.

"We have a long walk ahead of us," Arlene confessed. "Best get moving."

Our three friends moved steadily away from a further contest of arms towards the South west, others were moving north east. So little time there was for proper organization, training, and equip that dogs were in a shame, completely vulnerable to Garfield's force whom was better in nearly all fields. Some mocked that they were little more than an armed riot moving about town and they were challenging another riot and should make a real good show. Further plaguing canines was a lack of central leadership. There was no one leader. Every lodge, every company, had officers whom did as they pleased in moving. It was only by meeting that did most agree to move towards Bean Hill, occupy it, and wait. Coming this way he was, unchecked, unmolested, feeding off the land, taking more and more prisoners from farms and isolated homes. Someone needed to stop them. Still, others did not want to contest in an open field. Untold numbers of cats were already in town, perhaps spies or guerillas. Rumors were rampant that such groups were burning bridges or stealing litter from shops. Such rumors were unfounded, yet, Marshall Law was imposed on Yorktown by order of dogs, whom broke into houses, capturing any of all cats to be properly disposed of.

Marching with bellies full, cats streamed through open meadows, over rolling hills, across steams. Itching for a fight they were, every step fully expecting an ambush. A light fog was still hanging over them, Zoos expected his enemy to charge at them. Thus, he arrayed his men to march in a large wedge formation with sister regiments flanking and to his rear, giving good protection all around. It was a delay in forming up, but he felt more confident knowing that security was tight for an ambush.

By 10 0' Clock, scouts reported that they could see church spires of Yorktown just a few miles distant. No dogs were sighted, not even a scout. Strange. Very strange. Perhaps no word of a revolution have yet to reach such a town, or maybe they were woefully unprepared for battle. Hearing this report, Zoos was gratified, ordering his command to move with leisure. However, only one obstacle stood in their way. A grassy, low hill known locally as Bean Hill due to it's shape as a bean. Wasn't much of a blockage, little over fifteen feet high with forty-five degree slopes, covered in a lush, green, grass. Moving closer, Zoos's smile was ripped from his face when he spotted movement on this hill. Going closer, at a distance of 250 yards, he was stunned to see that Bean Hill was indeed occupied, by dogs.

In some degree of order, groups huddled on this hill, waiting, fiddling about, making no preparation like what was planned. No works, no heavy weapons, just lounging. That quickly changed when a sentry sighted Zoos moving forward.

"Here they come!" he shouted, stirring up a hive of bees as dogs clambered up to it's summit to see this sight.

Seeing Zoos and his regiments, now being arranged in a proper brigade line of battle with, from left to right, 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Regiments before them, an impressive number of 4,000 strong made dogs feel obviously edgy. What a sight to behold to see so many in one place. No obstructions hindered both sides view. So many numbers, so much death was about to happen.

Seeing the enemy for the first time sent chills down the spines of cats as well. Everyone was nervous. Now faced with an opponent, one could end their lives, cats began to waver even before shots were exchanged. Was it really worth it? The revolution. Some thought so, thus officers kept them in line, no cowardice. Those that tried to flee would be shot.

Faced with a blocking force to their rear and one to their front, cats were rather reluctant to go into battle without proper support. No artillery, air power, or reinforcements as of yet. Writing down on a sheet of paper, Zoos scribbled down a letter beseeching Garfield for an answer and reinforcements, believing what he faced was far more superior to his own force. Holding high ground with untold amounts of weapons of type, dogs did have a significant advantage, but failed to grasp such a notion. As his messenger hustled off in the same direction in which they came, both sides stared at one another across the open field. A heavy silence hung around them, punctured periodically by exchanges of jives.

Running to his hearts content, Zoos youthful messenger rushed past his old campsite and came across a startling find. Running right into him was Garfield himself, and marching close behind was another full brigade of infantry. Reinforcements.

"I say, boy, what news from the front?" Garfield asked Zoos's messenger with a voice of delight.

Nervously, hand trembling, he handed over a letter. Reading it's contents, Garfield's demeanor quickly changed to fuming mad as he crumbled the letter in his paw yelling, "Destroy them!"

Waiting still, Zoos felt so helpless in his position. He wanted to fight, but this was his first taste of combat. Was he in well over his head? Perhaps. Soldiers looked at one another then at him, asking for orders that could not give. To go up that slope without support would be suicide. Tension was rising, craving for a fight, someone jumped to his feet and yelled, "Long live, Garfield!" then commenced a mad dash, defying orders to return. Overwhelmed by a sense of courage and sheer bravado, others began to break away and join him, first a trickle, one or two, then small groups, then a flood came roaring up. No order, no discipline, just an armed mob that came barreling forward.

Caught off balance, dogs at first hesitated, then a ragged volley of stone was delt. One soul was hit in his chest. A sickening hollow thud as it stuck his body, hen he fell face first. First casualty. Undaunted, others came forward. Another one was hit, this time in the head. Holding his profusely bleeding wound, he turned to return back to his lines, only to be trampled underneath by his comrades. Roaring at the top of their lungs, cats of all shapes and sizes came barreling up towards the crest where dogs met them in a counter charge. Like two tidal waves they collided in a horrid mass as individuals stumbled down the slopes. It was a hand to hand fight where both sides shed all since of dignity and humanity, going back to nature where survival kicked in. Claws slashed, teeth grind, kicks, and punches, it was a free for all, sometimes cheating was resorted to by throwing of dirt or grass in adversaries eyes. Watching from afar, completely helpess, Zoos and other regimental commanders were statues as men were being slaughtered. For some reason, he didn't order the rest of his men up to charge in support or fire, just wait as one by one, brave felines were being ripped apart.

In a matter of just ten minutes, every single cat, as much as 200 total, that went up Bean Hill were killed or wounded, leaving dogs in possession. Defeated. First battle and cats were in a loss. What could they do? Disgraced, officers slapped skulkers and would be fugitives into line to get their lines dressed, reassemble order. No such blazent attack could be made again. Taking it all in, Zoos called in his regimental commanders to discuss their current situation when a trumpet call caught everyone's attention. In came Garfield. It was a complete suprise. As his new brigade marched in and began to dress off of 1st Brigade, Garfield conferred with Zoos.

"What's going on? Why haven't you destroyed these dogs yet?" his voice clearly aggravated.

"Sir, we are faced with a superior force" which wasn't true. In fact, the cats outnumbered dogs up to five to one, "We charged them once already, but we were thrown back."

"Then attack again and again if necessary. Keep attacking as long as you have men."

It sounded mad, leaving Zoos stunned in disbelief as his leader marched forward, moving through the ranks to address his men.

"My felines, this is our glorious opportunity. A chance to change the world, or to go back as second rank flea bags. Over that hill is our chance at glory!"

More cheers, "Hurray for Garfield! Long live the revolution!"

"Then go forward, keep together, listen to your officers, and for pizza's sake, destroy them!"

Together, in perfect concert, under a now blazing sun, two brigades, numbering just over 7,000 cats marched forward. Flinging stone, canines tried every desperate measure in which to halt them as a general withdrawal was undertaken. It was too risky to stay on this hill with cats easily out flanking them on the right. Wounded were being hauled out on make shift stretchers towards rail road junction, Savage Station where they were left to fend for themselves. Those unable to move were left where they fell. Cats were moving up, gaps being opened as stones found marks, yet, it wasn't enough for many shots though went overhead due to lack of proper training and hyped up adrenaline. Officers cursed their soldiers to aim lower, to make each shot count to no avail, moral and discipline, sagging before, now was about to collapse.

Cats were coming up in a solid, unwavering line, colors lightly flapping in a breeze, each soldier clenching a weapon in one hand, a metal BB in the other. Up they came, silent, no coy or joys now, just the steady, faint thump of their paws on grass. At a predetermined command just ten yards from it's summit, everything thing stopped.

"Halt! Ready, aim...!"

Each soldier loaded his slingshot and aimed.

"Fire!"

Unleashed, metal began flying, tearing down defenders left and right. First volley was straight and true, felling many. Whom would have thought that mere pellets could do so much damage. Stuck in head and throat, dogs fell. Some were able to stand back up, commencing a march to take them to Savage Station, others were disabled, watching in horror as cowards began to break free, fleeing to the rear. At first, it was just one or two, then more and more. Officers tried in vain to rally them. A second, equally devastating volley was dealt, carving out more and more to the butcher's bill. It was sheer madness. Panic griped, dogs began to take the initiative and ran. Several impressive gaps were opened as a result combined with desertion and casualties, inviting an inevitable charge which was given by Zoos whom took lead, taking hold ofhis regiment's colors. With a wild yell cats went for them in a mad charge. Far left, second brigade moved forward in a steady motion having still not fired. From left to right was 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th. disregarding that less than ideal officers and questionable soldiers filled it's ranks, these reinforcements moved forward, unmolested in hopes of a flanking mission, trapping their prey on the hill.

At the hinge speak between 1st and 8th Regiments, the brigade began to march in oblique through soft grass. Nothing challenged them until a shrill cry filled the air and directly before them, at a distance no more than twenty yards, a hidden company rose to their feet and dealt a point blank volley of musket fire that completely unraveled the march. It was Dilger's company whom had hidden themselves this entire time, well away from his comrades, a feat that would scorn him later on, yet his old fashioned musket wielding germans managed to halt this entire cat battalion whom were riddled with buckshot causing horrific casualties including a regimental commander. By the time they were able to redress there lines and resume a march, Dilger delt them another crippling volley, shredding all sense of cohesion thus allowing Dilger and his company to slip away joining what he thought was a general, organized, retreat, only to see Bean's defense finally collaspe.

By the time they got underway again, Zoos had already dealt a crippling blow when he charge finally succeeded in carrying Bean Hill's summit. Planting his color down, Zoos proclaimed it property of Garfield. Carpeted around him were literally hundreds of dead and dying from both sides. Some motionless, caught in a run, others still griped in frenzy combat. Moving towards it's back slope, soldiers witnessed a rather hasty retreat as dogs shed anything of burden in a flight. No last stand for this battle, it merely petered out. Cats sensed a hollow victory, despite Garfield's claim of a complete destruction of his enemy. Casualties on both sides were horrendous with as many as 700 dead and dying on both sides. Lacking proper medical teams, wounded were taken care of in hasty tents or put under trees for shade. Enemy wounded were a whole other story. On that very spot, Garfield dictated another General Order:

"All dogs taken in arms against the "Provisional Army" will be put to death. No quarter will be given to those that surrender or wounded. Any soldier that does not execute this order will be put to death."

Hearing such an order stunned even hard-core followers. He wanted to kill unarmed prisoners. Disregarding the fact that they were dogs, they were now harmless and there was no honor in killing an individual whom could not defend themselves. As such, the prisoners were housed still in Savage Station to await transportation to a POW camp or a hospital. Detailed to oversee their own wounded, Zoos was appalled at all the casualties from both sides.

"It was sickening, the smell, the horrid, lingering stench of death that lingered around us," he wrote later on.

Sanitation was no existent, retching, deification, blood, and guts formed in pools all around Savage Station as orderlies went about trying to care for all of them. Little food and what water that could be taken from a nearby river was quickly tainted. What also disturbed Zoos was the complete lack of care expressed by Garfield towards his own. Moans and howls deafened all communication, it was unbearable, and yet, his general, his leader moved though untouched by emotion. Never bothering to look or talk to his followers whom were pleading to have an audience with them.

"Is this our great rebel leader?" Zoos asked himself, "I hope so, or we all will be damned." Writing down his official report, he credited his soldiers for bravery but damned their discipline, complete disregard for orders, and lack of proper weapons. All of this, combined with a stead fast dogs he faced made it a challenge for him in Zoos first taste of combat. In it, his 1st Infantry suffered nearly two hundred casualties. Hi wounded were now laying close by completely helpless, begging for help, for home, and for their mothers.

Across the river, Yorktown was still being evacuated. Watching from roof tops, Dilger and his company were the rear guard to a complete route as dog and human fled for their very lives. Vehicles of all sort were trying to drive up congested roads filled with wounded and walkers. Some piled onto vehicles, others took side streets, even so, no one knew where exactly to go except far away from cats. Dilger sighed, he hoped that his dumb mutt friend had escaped. Peering over rooftops back over towards Bean Hill, he could see cats fording across, coming right onto the outskirts of town. At the lead was Garfield himself whom proclaimed loudly, "One more push and we'll be dining in Yorktown!" The thought of sleeping in doors with warm floors and cold milk made them lick their chops. Forward. Go forward. Painful as it was to walk, many kept it up. Keep going. Thirsty, hunger, and throbbing pains. Kept going. A small rail road stop lay before them, behind that was a small lake with one suitable bridge. That was where dogs were fleeing across. What was madness had since disappeared. Only discarded weapons, clothing, and bodies, unfortunate souls trampled underneath, were left in it's wake. So small was this stone arched crossing, that many were forced to ford around it. Even so, there was no challenge against them. Dilger, having seen the evacuation complete, pulled back well to the South west. No completely undefended, Yorktown was ripe for the taking, and yet, when cats entered it, place was deserted. Everyone had fled. Wanting a gathering of celebration, Garfield grew angry. Not welcomed as a conqueror, he sent out patrols to find cats. Perhaps they were in hiding. There was no need to fear. They were safe now. One by one, eyes from the darkness began to appear. Strays, deserted ones, or unwanted came forth towards this army of their own kind then a mighty cheer finally broke out. They have been liberated. Flocking around this orange tabby, they wanted a chance to join up and to fight this evil dogs whom were seen as captors.

"Join us" announced Garfield in town square, "join us and i'll make you all real cats!" No one knew what exactly what he meant, but his oral skills were just right and they flocked to his banner. As cheers rang about, other cats came out of the wood work, offering soldiers drinks of cold milk and housing for officers. Instead of capitalizing on his victory, Garfield, despite his better judgment, allowed his enemy to escape to the South west, to fight again another day.

"It's best not to do all of your fighting in one day," he said to Advisor Felix as he and his advisors bedded down in a descent hotel room for the night. Others were led to disagree. Many like Zoos, whom detested such carnage, wanted this fight to end quickly and limit carnage and pressed his leader to resume the march, but he was gently put down, ordering his soldiers to bivouac near Savage Station and to take whatever found they could from homes and from enemy wounded and dead.

Yorktown was taken. Messengers were sent back to Muncie announcing it's fall. A great roar erupted all around town, and a boisterous celebration followed. Jon heard it all from his basement which was fewer in number this time. Another escape attempt was made, this time a window was broken. Several, perhaps a dozen, managed to get out in the dead of night before guards spotted them. Shot rang out in the stillness followed by orders and shouts. Did some get away? Hope so, Jon thought. Yet, he did not participate. Why? Was he scared? Or did he sense a deep feeling of guilt knowing that his cat was the leader of this whole mess? That very same night, as Yorktown was partying in celebration as well, six other prisoners were taken out from Jon's been. Numbers were dwindling fast in this pen. Not much left. Where did those six go? A series of rapid shots answered that question. It was all coming to an end. Jon felt so helpless, confined to his own basement, his own captor was his own cat. he didn't realize what else was transpiring else where. Where was Arlene, Nermal, and Odie? Were they safe? Where did they go? How would he get of this? Sure serving Garfield was a daily, regular chore, but at the close of each night, he was thrown back into this cell. Little did Jon know that this, Bean Hill and Yorktown were just the beginning to a conflict that would last for an untold amount of time. Garfield's quest for dominance would claim many more lives, much more territory and forge alliances and break fellowships as never before. Entering Indianapolis at last, Dilger found a complete set of chaos as refugees sought to seek help. One familiar figure stood out though, that dimwitted pup, Odie, he had made it along with Arlene and Nermal whom took stares and death threats for being cats. Even so, Dilger accepted them into his group. Two more figures would join his group later on, one was a six year old boy, the second was a tiger...

**_I will continue with this story if I recieve enough positive reviews or constructive critisism._**


	2. Chapter 2

The Cat Revolution

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of "Garfield" they are owned by Jim Davis, and this story is for sheer amusement. For this story, I placed it in modern times, but use tactics of the Civil War, marching in formations and firing as such. I try to keep it simple for those not familiar with this so there's no confusion. Enjoy.

Approaching Indianapolis on three fronts, Garfield moved his base from Muncie to Yorktown to over see his final conquest for all was going right for him and his glorious cause. Since Bean Hill, there had been no fighting. That was due to the fact that all dogs, lacking leadership, were mixed up in the state's capital. Only one animal seemed to retain control and some sense of order and that was Dilger, whom was struggling to keep dogs and humans in line, to clear roads for traffic, and gather numbers. So far, his company swelled to over 200, but that wasn't enough to fight an army estimated at 10,000. Though fictious, Garfield's army was steadily growing, picking up addition recruits in his captured territories such as Yorktown. Enough trickled through to grown an additional brigade. Labeled the 3rd, all three compiled his first infantry division. To command such a unit, Garfield should have selected the very best individual. Someone with fortitude, knowledge, and courage. Instead, he selected Gold, his advisor. No one knew as to why he had come up with this kind of decision, then again, no one questioned it either.

From the very start, Gold was discovered not to be the best officer material. Her demeanor was sour when around staff members and uncaring when it comes to matter regarding her troops. All immoderate work was placed onto subordinates whom were woefully understaff in moving a full division of nearly 11,000. With her commanding this new division, she selected a good friend a petite Persian short haired, Hassan to command 3rd Brigade. One problem always plagued this new brigade commander, though well mattered and gentle, he was skittish and sulked under heavy pressure, a defect that would prove costly in future battles.

Two days following the battle of Bean Hill, Garfield was still in Yorktown, supposively collecting more troops. Heavy rains had turned fields into marshlands and roads slippery to drive also adding to the decision to wait. Nearby, a golden opportunity was slipping away. Still in the state of shock and confusion, dogs milled about aimlessly, crowding into any establishment willing to provide shelter to them. All sense of honor and defense had left them.

Gold, however, sympathized with her leader, she needed time to shape up her division and to gather better weapons. Taking heed with Dilger's brief, yet destructive stand, Zoos wanted to have firearms distributed to his command. Jumping right on it, Gold sought for some but rejected her own order on account that carrying them along with ammunition would burden travel time. Pleading vigorously, Zoos managed to influence Gold enough to have sharpshooters be given captured muskets. It was enough to satisfy both parties.

By now, a factory in Muncie, the Dews Iron Works, began producing what they consider artillery pieces. Snub nosed iron tubes just three feet long and a 3 inch diameter at the muzzle. Placed on a small carriage, it weighed only 800 pounds, rather light, and not real powerful considering that it was a smoothbore. Even so, two pieces were moved to Yorktown via rail, all of this work was done by human prisoners, and ready for field trials.

As Garfield's army formed, Dilger was struggling to move. Though Odie, Arlene, and Nermal had joined him, this German Shepherd was finding it difficult to move just across the street. Refugees packed roads and alley ways. Stragglers littered sidewalks, sleeping, wounded, dying. No order. Debris of all sorts littered the roads. On one neighborhood, a set of eyes watched from a window at all the chaos.

"What do you suppose is coming?" asked a youthful voice.

"Not sure, but I bet it's something big," replied a much different tone right beside him.

From this vantage point, these two unknowns watched as Dilger and his company moved through throngs of people and animals, trying in vain to regain control, to organize, and to move. Homes were being converted to hotels to make way for refugees. So many, oh so many there. Where could they sleep? All shelters have been filled to capacity. From all corners of the state, people were moving in to seek refuge from a cat revolution. At the same time, dogs were trying to muster up. Dilger didn't trust a single one of their souls outside his company.

"All they have our their own personal goals." concurred Boxer his Doberman pincher aide, "Neither one has the strength to stand up what needs to be done, only what they want to be done."

A sudden rap came to the door, calmly descending to answer it was Calvin nieve as to whom it could be. Unhooking the dead bolt, turning shiny brass knob, he slowly opened it to reveal Dilger, reared up on his hind legs staring down at him.

"hi, can I help you?" he choked out in disbelief.

"We need shelter," Dilger said to him, "for me and my company."

Looking over his shoulder at the crowd behind Dilger, Calvin was amazed to see them. Grizzled look, dirt caked, exhausted dogs of all sorts, including two cats mixed up in the bunch. What a sight to behold to see them in his front yard. Reluctant at first, the boy finally gave in and accepted them inside his home. With ample space downstairs totake on most of this number, the dogs fanned out to get some rest as Arlene and Nermal made a V line for the kitchen to prepare meals under Dilger's expressed order. Watching them from his staircase, Calvin and later Hobbes were both astonished, without saying a word to either of them as they entered and began to lounge about and eat.

Finally, Hobbes jumped up and spoke to Dilger, "Just one-second. How what is going on here?"

Sighing, Dilger took the two over to a couch, sat them down and began to explain what was unfolding outside. "It's simple. The cats have begun a revolution to overthrow not just dogs, but humans as the dominate species."

This made Calvin gulp and looked fidgety at Hobbes whom was a tiger, therefore a relation to cats. Both sensed what each other was thinking and at that very spot, Hobbes swore a ablibed but stone hard oath of loyalty to. This placed every at ease for the moment.

"Even so," Dilger continued, "they're numbers far outpaced our own and they are springing up in every town and state. We need this house to set up our base."

"Why not get others to join you?" Calvin asked them. Looking around, he saw Odie whom was distinguishably different looking than these other dogs, "There are several dogs out there, I saw them."

"Wish we could, but those dogs belong to different lodges. Different groups with their own political thoughts and gains. We are different. We serve man and man only. Done so for centuries, far different from those outside whom only want man so they could live with shelter and food. Without humans, they would die out."

"If it's cats against dogs, then why are two of them in my kitchen right now?" Calvin asked him referring to Nermal and Arlene.

"They are all right cats, those that have no loyalty to Garfield, the cat's leader. You can trust them as well as your tiger here."

His words were harsh but correct. Sensing that his home would mean the difference of this war, Calvin and Hobbes both asked to join in their struggle. Agreeing, Dilger set up ground rules. He would take out his company again later that night, and he wanted the house to be reserved for them. Fortifications would also be needed in case the invaders arrived both inside and out. This the boy and tiger could do alone, but Arlene and Nermal were both asked to help out, Odie was to go out with them. These four would remain behind as the dogs headed out again, this time for another battle.

"Let's go, boys," Dilger ordered.

His command rose up to his calling and filed out. Taking up a musket, Odie went with them, his tongue tucked in his mouth, eye lids narrowly opened, his cheerful demeanor now straight forward and serious. Arlene saw him out, "Be careful you pooch."

None knew where they were going, just find cats and kill them. Couldn't be far out, they were almost at the city limits. Everyone was going west, they were going east, fighting refugees and skulkers trying to get by. A few brave souls decided it was best to join up and did so, further bolstering Dilger's numbers, but it wasn't enough to face possibly to full brigades.

Back at the house, Calvin opened up the garage to find the work bench and all of the tools, wood, and necessities needed to build. Grinning from ear to ear, the boy clambered up and prepared the ban saw to cut planks of wood as Hobbes feed them in. Both cats were tasked in nailing them to windows inside. It was a grueling task that only Calvin seemed to enjoy but he was working the power. Window after window were covered up except for one slat so rifles could be fired through. Back door was barred, garage and second floor windows as well. Grumbling between them, Arlene and Nermal were still famished from their stay in Garfield's basement. Calvin did not allow breaks, work needed to be done. He felt his sense of duty was in turning his house into a fortress. If cats were indeed coming, this would be the focal point of their assaults if he got it up in time. Those two cats were lagging behind, planks of wood were being piled up at his feet, needing to be carted away. Hobbes went to search for these feline female companions and found them sitting in the kitchen taking a break with water.

"Why are you sitting around?" Hobbes asked them in a regular tone.

"Look, we need to take a break. we escaped from one of Garfield's prisons with little food or water. So, forgive us please, we just need a rest," Arlene said to him. Sympathetic, Hobbes allowed them to take a drink whilst the boy could be heard cursing from the garage for someone to remove all this wood.

By noon, the house was still being worked on in all sorts. All windows were covered two planks thick for better protection. As they dug and nailed, Dilger's comrades were doing the same thing at an old interception on the outskirts of town. This old cross road overlooked a patch of swamp to the North, directly in the line of approach from the North west, or from Yorktown. Thanks to the heavy rains in the past few days, this dry land was a quagmire of swamp and high grass. On it's far bank was a steep incline where dogs were busy digging a trench. Selecting this field came like a light bulb turning on in Dilger's mind. It was natural that cats would take the most direct route to Indianapolis. Cats hate water and will strive to seek and chance to avoid it. Dilger had moved in, just in the nick of time. With his over burdened company stretched to the limit, he stretched them out to cover a front a half mile long with just more than 200 individuals or one for every three feet. Desperately thin as they were, Dilger was confident that he held most of the advantages.

First shots of battle were exchanged by sharpshooters in around one that afternoon as Gold moved up her brigades one after the other marched down the road towards Big Stream. Once first shots were exchanged, the road was abandoned and Gold deployed her troops on the opposite banks of the swamp, preparing to take her enemy head on. In addition, two artillery pieces moved up and boomed for the first time, two soft ball sized lead spheres splashed into the swamp just shy of it's targets. Not rattled, dogs waited tensely, muskets resting on the rim of their dugouts as they came on. Watching anxiously at the networks of trenches he faced on the right flank, Zoos thought that this would be the end.

"This will be a big battle," said his aide.

"Yes, and I doubt we will see it's end." Zoos replied in a monotone voice never taking his gaze off of those dogs.

Round after round were pumped at the trenches, spraying dirt and water in puffs of explosion but did nothing but waste ammunition. When those two ceased, it signaled the commencement of the infantry assault. Zoos moved abreast with his two sister units in crossing over Big stream. According to him, he stepped off at four that afternoon. Hassan was on the left. Zoos could see him jumping up and down trying to keep his soldiers marching in step like humans, not to fire or waste their shots at long range, despite the fact that sharpshooters were already nipping at their ranks. Undeterred, the three brigades of cats sloshed through the swamp, the embanked road to their left. It was almost neck deep in places. Waiting for the perfect chance, Dilger watched them through a firing slit. His sharpshooters were picking some off, but the remainder were waiting to deliver a volley. Just as they were about to ford to his side of the bank, he gave the command, "Give it to them!"

A perfect spew of flame and white smoke belched forth, tearing into the cats like a perfect scythe, felling dozens in a moment. Others tumbled back into the muck trying to swim back or dive underneath to avoid the deadly fire.

Watching the unfolding battle from afar, Gold sat with her staff on a small knoll, hearing a distant rattle of musketry. She was nothing more than a mere spectator at this battle. Around some point in time, she vainly dispatched an order to call of the assault, however, this message never reached Zoos or any other brigade commander. For Dilger, his defense was holding firm. Not a single cat could scale it's farthest embankment. Artillery boomed, rifles cracked, wounded moaned, and dead bobbed as it went on for hours. Moving about on the crest, Dilger shouted his encouragement as his German dogs were hurling back, enacting their revenge for Bean Hill.

"It was a wild turkey shoot," he recalled. "Most quivered, heads barely appearing above the surface of the water and we shot them where they were."

No cats carried muskets to return this devastating fire. Just sling shots. It was hopeless. After several bloody hours, Zoos was fed up. No support was coming his way. The attack was called off as the sun began to set, leaving Dilger and his bunch in command of the field. For dogs, it was a glorious victory, yet this battle had little meaning. Garfield was stopped here, yet continued his advance elsewhere. Zoos lost heavily in terms of numbers. His original brigade, including his old 1st Infantry Regiment whom suffered over 60 percent loss of the 500 cats of it's original complement. In all, Zoos lost nearly 2,000 members in his futile assaults, all for not.

Dilger's losses, combined with his tactical knowledge and hearty breastworks, amount to only five slightly wounded.

No time to celebrate, or bask in fruits of victory. Garfield's other brigades advanced around the flanks of Dilger, forcing him to withdrawal during the night, living to fight another day. This fight at Swamp Crossing delayed cats advance for another day. Still though, with that last line now gone, Garfield had his sights fully set on taking the capital. Disorganized as they were, Dilger had bought that one day to have defenses better organized. Roads were barricaded, homes turned into bunkers, yards became killing fields when trees and bushes were cleared. Wounded and refugees were evacuated to downtown and dogs filed in towards the front.

Huffing at the double quick through narrow alley ways in which they had no knowledge of, the company took several detours getting back to Calvin's house, getting lost several times before finally locating it, by then, it was dark. Still working, Hobbes at first didn't recognize them and called out, "Halt, who goes there?"

Hoarse and fatigued, Dilger replied, "Dilger..." unable to complete it with his lungs.

"Who?"

"Dilger..."

Uneasy, the tiger picked up a piece of 2 x 4 for a club and cautiously approached the group whom was halted on the side walk.

Watching this from an upstairs window, Arlene shouted down, "For Pete's sake, it's Dilger, let them in."

Even with their victory, it didn't turn the tide. It was only a matter of time before cats came into the city whom was still unprepared. Calvin told them that several groups pleaded to be let in, even one tried forcing their way inside, but Hobbes beat them back, even so, the front door had it's hinges damaged. A minor set back. Seeking a place to rest, the dogs cleaned their muskets and feasted on a small meal of meat served by Arlene. It was enough to satisfy their growling stomachs through the night. As they settled in, Gold pushed her division to the very outskirts of the city. Perched on some high ground, she surveyed the chaos that still reigned over the city. Many small fires dotted the landscape on an otherwise bleak night. Chants, roars, and cheers could be heard from dogs down below, completely unaware of cats present.

Twelve howitzers were brought up to this piece of high ground and immediately began shelling, throwing explosive rounds indiscriminately into houses and streets, scattering people in every direction. As they exploded, infantry pressed forward, three brigades strong with more well underway.

"We put up everything we could to better ourselves," said Hobbes, "we moved furniture, even the car, gathered all the food from abandoned houses, even took ammunition and weapons. A lot of people left in a hurry." It wasn't enough though for a prolonged siege. Enough food and clean water for a few days, and enough powder for his muskets for one good battle. Even though Hobbes moved everything to fortify walls and blocked the driveway, hacked down several branches that obscured view from upstairs, he wasn't satisfied with this so called fort and thought it would be best to flee whilst there was still time. Calvin protested this loudly, "This is my house, and I will not abandon it. My parents are out there, and they will be home any minute!"

Dilger had news for him, "Your parents are now in a prison camp, kid. Might as well face facts, you're on your own."

Tinkering with a radio upstairs in the parents bed room, Arlene struggled to gain any information from the outside. What was happening elsewhere? Was Garfield's influence spreading beyond just Muncie? Indeed it was. Gold moved with unrelenting drive in trying to take this prize all part of her own plot to please Garfield and win his favor as successor or so the image seemed. Regiment after regiment were being fed into the campaign as the days led up to now. Two brigades, those that participated at Yorktown were now storming into the suburbs. Pillaging was rampant as people were taken into captivity, homes were torched or confiscated to of other use. As movements were observed from his bed room window, Calvin sank into despair. What was happening all around him? Just yesterday, he and Hobbes enjoyed a game of Calvinball, and now, cats were moving about outside armed with rifles or slingshots and battering his walls. downstairs were dogs, barricading themselves in his house and cats were tinkering with his parent's radio.

"All right. Hold the phone. Someone please tell me what is happening here!" he yelled descending the staircase. "Why are dogs fighting cats?"

"Garfield went nuts!" Nermal yelled out from the kitchen.

"Whose Garfield?" asked Hobbes with a raised eyebrow.

Arlene stepped out, holding a large pitcher of water. She carefully glided over to several soldiers, filling up cups. As she did so, she began to speak in a monotone voice, almost to herself, "Garfield was a friend of mine. A close friend. We shared a lot, singing on the fences. He was selfish, fat, uncaring. Then, one day, he went mad."

Eyes fell upon her with those words. The whole house was cast in a hush. When her task was finished, Arlene said nothing else and returned to the kitchen.

"Well, there's something you don't hear everyday," Calvin voice broke the silence.

As the hours passed, few got any sleep. Sentries on the roof kept a vigilant watch. Distant puffs of artillery were seen towards the North east, this alerted Dilger whom could not get a winks worth of sleep downstairs. His delaying actions had brought nothing major for his canine colleagues whom refused to anything more than mill about, mindless. His philosophy came towards them was true. No cats were seen though, no sense in alerting everyone just yet.

Dawn came, and a very uneasy Dilger descended the stair case. Clustered all about, practically at his feet, was his company. Groggy, mumbling softly to one another in the darkness, they were almost like zombies with their weary eyes, staring into walls and ceilings. Awakening in his bed, Calvin left his bed, leaving Hobbes to hog all of the pillows. Going into the kitchen, oblivious to his surroundings, Calvin opened the refrigerator, fetched a gallon of milk to begin his breakfast of several bowls of Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs. Taking down a bowl from the pantry, he completed his tasks, bowl, spoon, milk, cereal and waltzed into the living room, climbed into the recliner, activated the television, and began to enjoy himself. The sudden noise of animated cartoons stirred up those around him. Munching into his meal, Calvin began aware that there were individuals around him. His eyes, pulled open to it's fullest extent, gazed left and right, seeing those individuals. Mouth was full of his sugar slosh, cheeks bulging, hand unsteady in holding his spoon and bowl. A figure loomed beside him, took the remote control from the arm rest in which it lay, and promptly deactivated the television, much to Calvin's slurring protest. It was Arlene whom did the deed, but she ignored his muffled cries and returned to her sleep not far away.

Biting his lips against the cold wind that blew into his face, Hobbes sat on the roof, just outside Calvin's bedroom window, keeping a vigilant watch towards the North east as a red sun began to rise over the horizon, promising to be a warm day. Rubbing his paws together, blowing his hot breath into them, the tiger worried about this day would bring to this house. If rumors were true that cats had indeed thrown a revolution, what then? He was a feline, but had already sworn loyalty to humans. If he was captured, they might execute him for being a traitor. The greatest rivalry was unfolding right before him, cats versus dogs and he was in the middle of it.

Not more than a few miles distant, Garfield slumbered away in his bed, which was moved to a new camp just on the outskirts of the capital. His breakfast, quite large, was being prepared already by a small army of cooks. The aroma it created hovered over the camp, arousing slumbering soldiers towards the hot stoves. They were given some fish, meats, and water, very little to what he was being given. Garfield boasted it was his gift for being the divine leader.

On the other hand, Zoos awoke to a growling stomach. Neither he, or any of his soldiers, have received their daily rations. Having marched all the way to Yorktown, the cooks were unable to keep up since all were attached to feed Garfield. Sawing wood in abandoned houses in the suburbs, the cats saw no humans ever since entering the area, chased off by the artillery. With them went food, including fresh meats. Some barrels of pickled fish were discovered in the basement of a butcher shop. It was pitiful, but no one complained when they were opened and cooked to settle their growling stomachs. As they fried, broiled, or boiled their meats, a messenger came by with a letter from Gold for Zoos. In it, she expressed extreme prejudice towards "tardiness in his command" for failing to take most of the suburbs while it was still dark. Growling under his breath, Zoos crumbled the letter, threw it to the ground, and barked for his soldiers to fail in. This they did so, chewing on bits of fish as they formed up and prepared to move out.

"This is dangerous territory," he reminded them, "keep your eyes open, ears pricked, and paws steady."

With his advice, the cats resumed their assault into the capital, meeting no resistance at first, just abandoned streets and houses. Street after street fell under their control. Their momentum began to pick up when their eyes began to focus on the sky scrappers marking the city became bigger and bigger.

About this time, two sentries went out in front of the house to keep a look out as Hobbes continued to sit on his perch, unmoving. Then, he saw movement in the next street over. It looked like a column moving through the street. They were cats, and now a second column was moving right for him!

"They're coming!" Hobbes yelled with his hoarse voice to those down below. The two sentries on the road saw a wave of cats turn the road, spotted them at the same time, and charged right for them. Both discharged their muskets then rushed for the house. Hobbes jumped through the window as well, rocks pigging all around him. Watching his soldiers pass by at a dead run, Dilger saw the cats and grinned evilly, now is the time. Clutching a musket of his own, he took aim and fired down the road, a cat heaved and fell. Spurring inside, the door was shut and barred. He was the last one in. Cats already knew where they were and sent a barrage of rocks their way with slingshots firing on the run. By individuals and by small groups, they tried to take the house immediately, jumping over the car blocking the drive way and over the front yard. Waiting until the last minute, denying their fire, Dilger waited until the very last second, until enough targets were clustered in front of him that no soldier could miss hitting one. Behind him, Arlene stood ready with powder to reload their muskets. Nermal moved upstairs with another barrel for sharpshooters. Calvin was little more than a spectator, watching them, asking, "When can I get a rifle?"

"When you grow up," one soldier barked.

At the last possible moment, Dilger gave the command, "Let them have it!" and a massive thunderclap swept through the field. Cats were hit by the score, knocked down and back by bullets that shattered glass, kicked up dirt, and pavement. Those that were exposed in this field were promptly mowed down. Those still alive sought shelter wherever it was provided. Those behind the car found it impossible for it was easily fired down upon by sharpshooters firing from above. It was suicidal stay any longer and the cats retreated after only a few moments of contest, only to come back again even stronger. With a wild cheer, they charged again, this time from both front and back after a fence was punched out. Cold as it was outside for their attackers, inside the fort, heat rose to an intolerable level as shot after shot went out creating a fog of humid, silky white fog that hung low in the rooms. The hot bite of charcoal, and the acid smell of cordite seemed to spur the dogs even more to fire away as sweat began rolling off noses and soaking fur. Into neighboring homes went cats, trying to find a way to hit back and stop their devastating fire. One by one, cats were being mutilated, hit, and disabled by musket balls and there was nothing they had suitable to reply back with except flimsy slingshots. Those sharpshooters that Zoos begged to have were not living up their name. Fed up after witnessing this slaughter, Zoos ordered up two of those howitzers on the hill to "blow the house to hell."

It took over thirty minutes for those two guns to be moved towards the house, by then, the fire fight began to slacken off. Some thought that the cats were retreating, and the cats thought the dogs were being destroyed. All that came from all the smoke from their muskets which seeped out through cracks and open windows. So much of it escaped, that the cats thought the house was on fire and decided to wait and watch them be smoked out. When the guns were finally in a position on the other side of the road to fire, Zoos ordered them to with hold this, to wait and see. Minutes passed, the smoke began to clear. Coughing as he felt his way through the house, Hobbes found Dilger peeping through a front window.

"What are you waiting for? Why have you stopped firing?" asked the tiger.

"They have two cannons out there," Dilger replied, ignoring his question.

This dog was brazen, brave, and cool under fire. That's what impressed Hobbes enough that as the dogs weren't looking, he picked up a musket, some powder cartridges and went back up stairs. As he did, several thoughts were going through his mind. He had chosen his fate, his destiny, his side. It was here. Climbing back out onto the roof, Hobbes threw one leg over to the other side of the A frame roof, from this sitting position, he could see the battlefield before him. Cluttered were prone bodies, wounded, and cats moving like ants all around. They were everywhere, in the back yard, front, and neighboring houses. Rocks pinged and whizzed about his head. They could see him, even Zoos did. Seeing the two cannon not more than 75 yards away, just waiting to fire, Hobbes placed the tips of each paper cartridge between his teeth, ripped open one and calmly loaded his musket. It seemed to come naturally to him how to work one of these. It was a flint lock musket, but it didn't matter to him. Once it was loaded, he took aim. Everyone down below hunched down, took cover. Who was the target? That answer came with a sudden CLICK FLASH BANG. A gunner heaved and fell.

"That's one," he smirked.

Angered, Zoos ordered everyone to "bring that one down now! All weapons on him!"

All attention was focused now directly on Hobbes whom sat exposed on the roof, firing his musket away. This elevated the pressure off Dilger inside for once the smoke cleared, he resumed his fire which knocked down those operating the howitzers and sent cats reeling back, well away from them, seeking shelter into houses. From there, it was a long range slug fest that lasted for the better part of an hour. Neither side was willing to make a move. Laying out in the cold field were over three dozen cats, slain by dogs and two howitzers which had yet to be fired because gunners were too afraid to operate them in the exposed landscape. By 0900, the sun rose up, the temperature began to rise slowly. By now, the fire had stopped altogether. Having called for reinforcements, Zoos was waiting for them, waiting for them to come on all sides of the house. He had numbers to his advantage, but his adversary was proving to be a tough nut to crack.

Taking a breather, Odie sank against a wall in the living room. Sweat from his fur soaked the wall and left streaks as he sank to the floor. Parched of thirst, he accepted a gift from Arlene of a glass of water with a smile. He hadn't said much since the fight began, but as a regular foot soldier, he was brave and true to his cause. Despite his infamous stupidity, he was a good aim and solid as a stone nonetheless and continued to be so as the fire began to step again with the arrival of those promised reinforcements. This time, they brought in fire arms and bullets began to wreck everything they touched. Walls were pierced, windows shattered, shingled torn away as cats with pitiful aim, sought to wreck this wart. It was their first real clash for many and they were scared and craving a fight and let it up with everything they processed.

Cowering under his bed, Calvin yelled and cried for his mother as bullets ripped all around him. He was like everyone else, pinned down, unable to move. Brandishing Ak-47s of all sorts and captured machine guns from who knows where, cats took the house from all four sides and ripped it apart with tracer and armor piercing rounds that turned it into Swiss cheese. Able to finally move unhampered, howitzer crews pushed their muzzle loaded to within 50 yards of the house, calibrated the tubes skywards to fire into the second story windows. One such spherical shot came through Calvin's window, tore into the ceiling, hit support strut, bounced off, came down into the interior and rolled down the stairs...

KA THUNK

KA THUNK

KA THUNK

Coming to rest at the bottom, the fuse sputtered, whizzed, then went out. It was a dud. Even though it would have caused horrific damage to it's interior, wounded, mutilate, and possibly kill dogs if it had gone off, it wouldn't have for everyone hunkered down in the garage, underneath work brenches and improvised cover as bullets pinged and whizzed through.

Through sulfuric smoke, officers finally ordered a cease fire, letting defenders inside breath an uneasy sigh of relief for a moment as a loud, thundering voice from the outside, came to their ears. Yelling through a megaphone, officers called out for the "foolish dogs" to surrender. "It's useless to resist the might of our revolution! Surrender and we might grant you mercy," they said. "You are brave, yet foolish. Surrender now and spare unnecessary suffering."

Angered already that his home was shot to pieces, Hobbes left the garage, disregarding Dilger's order not to. Entering the living room, pieces of furniture, carpet, windows and ceiling lay littered all about him. It wasn't the warm, loving place he once knee, It was a war zone right in his own living room. Where was Calvin? That's what his mission was. Find him. Where was he? When everyone fled to the garage, the boy wasn't among the refugees. Last time he was seen was upstairs. Probably now cowering under his bed like a baby. Even so, Calvin needed to be removed to a safe place. As voices boomed outside asking for a surrender, the tiger moved up slowly, avoiding making a noise or obvious signs of movement to those watching. In the hallway upstairs, he made the venture at a crawl all the way to his bed room. Door was cracked open, shot full of holes, but open enough for his frame to slitter through. Following muffled sobs that originated underneath the bed, Hobbes removed them slowly to reveal a sulking Calvin, unharmed by all the fire. Clearing his watery eyes to see that it was Hobbes whom had discovered him, Calvin immediately toughened up.

"Mom will have a hissy fit when she finds out what we did to the house while they were gone," Calvin dryly joked.

Once Calvin was secured, Hobbes moved to the window. Together, they looked weary outside to see hordes of cats all around them.

"Good gravy!" Calvin exclaimed, "Where did they come from?"

"Someone didn't listen to Bob Barkers suggestion," Hobbes muttered back.

No was firing, it was very quiet, just a bash of loud words coming from a megaphone piercing the daylight. Still with his musket, Hobbes shifted about for a firing spot. Easing the muzzle just an inch out of the window for balance, he took aim. With curiosity, Calvin sat back and waited. There was a telekinetic between these two as to whom the target was.

"Surrender now. You have five minutes to comply to our..."

CLICK BANG!

A cloud of white smoke filled the room. Coughing, blowing it away with his hand, Calvin rushed up to the window to see the effect of his shot. Laying crumbled in the road was the megaphone, the officer seen running away to another house.

"Nice shot," Calvin congratulated.

Irritated, Hobbes replied, "Not really. I was aiming for his head.

His shot unnerved his attackers. For the remainder of the day, no more shots were fired. A siege was laid on the house as more and more cats came into the theater, some pressed on to other areas, but this skirmish attracted great attention from Garfield himself. With an enemy force of unknown size trapped inside a house, and his cats surrounding them, it would make great propaganda once this thorn was removed. All else though, his progress in taking the capital was going without a hitch. There was little to no resistance as humans fled for their lives. Prisoners by the hundreds were taken, cowering in basements or attics, completely taken aback that once lovable felines were now running through the streets, in cars, firing on the run at windows. What was happening? Did the whole world come apart? Not many were sure at this point. Only instinct gripped human and animal alike and that was to survive by any means necessary.

Zoos admired those individuals in that house. One direct assault had failed to take them early, costing him perhaps thirty soldiers killed or wounded. Having them surrounded didn't mean the fight was over. With Gold's expressed orders, this house was too be flattened and all in it killed by tomorrow, or else...

With that, Zoos assembled all the artillery he could, four guns total and resumed pummeling the house with explosive shells that ripped apart banisters, collapsed ceilings, and destroyed furniture. Several rounds exploded in the kitchen, severing the gas main and turning it into a funeral pyre. From there, it began to spread to other rooms. Helpless, everyone huddled in the garage, sealing the door with wet towels. Listening to it's roar as it spread, Calvin began to break down, knowing full well that his room, with all of his toys, inventions, comic books, were being destroyed, being consumed. What was the course of action now? What did the great Dilger have to get them out of this mess? This is what Calvin wanted to know. Eyes filled with tears, the boy leapt at the dog, balling his fists and striking here and there along his back and neck, all the while yelling, "What now!" It took the efforts of Odie and Hobbes to remove the slashing boy off of Dilger and contain him. Foaming at the mouth with rage, the boy lashed out at everyone and everything, blaming them for bringing this war to his home, for destroying his comic books. Shrieking and crying at the top of his lungs that could be heard for miles, Zoos wondered if they were suffering horrible deaths.


	3. Chapter 3

Cat Revolution

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Garfield, they are owned by Jim Davis. Calvin and Hobbes are owned by Bill Watterson. Dilger is my creation.

It was becoming far too much to stay in the house much longer fire was consuming everything in site from the kitchen. Huddled in a now crowded garage was our defenders. Hobbes and Calvin were unaccounted for when the tiger went in search of his friend. Meanwhile, Zoos tightened his iron ring around the house with more troops poised around neighboring homes, behind fences, and behind hasty barricades of cars. He didn't permit his troops to fire yet. Instead, he wanted the fire to do it's work and smoke his adversary out.

"How do you like your hot dogs, boys?" one officer joked.

"Dead," became an unanimous response. The hatred for dogs seemed to be spreading. Garfield made sure that propaganda fueled their desire, dogs were evil and it was their place that needed to be taken. Cats were dominate, smarter, cuter, and deserved the throne as the superior species. Contradictory to that, Dilger trained his soldiers that everyone was equal, but dogs were there to "serve man." To be their protector from all trouble which is why he believed their cause was just, to protect man from scum like this, any of those who wanted to challenge the take over man.

Having shot the megaphone, Hobbes returned downstairs to see the roaring fire as it began to spread into the living room.

"Whoa," he cried, startled as the yellow and red flames licked the walls and stretched to the ceiling.

"This is worse than the time we played with the plumbing," Calvin yelled.

"Now I wish we had all that water right now!" concurred Hobbes.

Picking up a blanket, Calvin charged in, defying the heat and began trampling the flames. Following his example, Hobbes followed soon after with a blanket of his own. Together, they began beating back the flames. Several of Dilger's soldiers, whom had come out to find them, also took up the fight and together, they put out the fire all together. With it quelled, everyone breathed a great sigh of relief. Most of the food was destroyed though, water mains were severed as well, leaving the defenders parched of thirst and starving. There wasn't much time left. Sitting in the Swiss cheese room called the garage, Dilger was going through his options. As leader of his company, he weighed the options. Surrender, throw himself and the lives of his comrades at the mercy of his foe or try and break out. No doubt now that the cats would try and storm the house, it was just a question of when. Believing that the dogs were killed or severely damaged, the cats were beginning to move in for the kill. Even though not really harmed, the soldiers were not up to par in stopping them.

The deluge dragged out. Smoke was still seeping out. Zoos withheld his attack, fearing that the house ran on propane and it could go up in a fire ball. As the sun began to set, his deadline was rapidly approaching and still, he was no close in capturing his objective. No more shots were being exchanged though, giving the scene and eerie presence. Continuing to throw propaganda at them in the hopes of a bloodless end, Zoos pleaded for them to end the needless suffering of wounded.

Listening to those words from outside, Arlene confided with Nermal inside the kitchen over what to do. "If they get in here, they will kill us."

Nermal agreed, "yes, but we can't just abandon everyone. They need us. We escaped from Garfield's prison, now you want to run again?"

Arlene began to grow angry, "Listen, we are cats, they are dogs. I know they are our friends, but we have to think about ourselves here. If they get inside and find us with them, they will shoot us as traitors." It took awhile for the kitten to under stand what the mature female was trying to explain. They couldn't stay here any longer. It would be better to flee for their lives, taking their chances outside. Between the two, they planned an escape attempt that very night. No one else was involved, not even Odie. Shifting his troops around, Dilger didn't sense what was happening inside the house. Calvin was back upstairs, jotting down enemy movements into a note pad as Hobbes sighted them with his hunter eyes. For a while, it was calm at least and soldiers on both sides began to drift off into an exhaustive sleep at their posts. Officers had to kick them to keep them awake.

Zoos stood in conference with several of his officers. "It is settled gentlemen," he said quietly to them, "storm the house, take no prisoners."

An artillery piece was moved up in stealth towards the front door. The plan was to blow down the front door and send in everyone to clear out the house. The commander was willing to use shear numbers to clear this obstacle, despite the risk of losing so many of his soldiers. It had to be done. No other choice. Lack of intelligence impaired his other advantages to come in from all sides. Moving along his cordon, Zoos looked at their faces. Tired, hungry, scared, some fully expected that this would be their last battle. He was willing to sacrifice a few for the worthiness of this cause. The clock ticked away, 9, 10, finally 11. Fires from distant camps and battles lowly dimly on the horizon. By this time, Garfield would have settled down for bed after indulged himself in a feast of captured honey hams. Most of his followers had never laid their eyes on their leader, he remained far to the rear, out of sight. Perhaps it was for the best. Zoos was in a quagmire and didn't want any more officers breathing down his neck to get going. Having not eaten for nearly a full day, he settled down to a can of sardines behind his barricade with others to share with. Stars and a last quarter moon illuminated much of the neighborhood, no fires were permitted, so only cold food would be served. Sardines were the only food given to the attackers. Most soldiers were strays, whom hunted for a living. Having to pry open tin cans to get to oil coated fish was a real treat for them. Inside, dogs had very little to chew on. Salvaging through the wreckage of the kitchen produced only some milk and a large container of egg plant casserole which caused Calvin to say, "That garbage can survive anything."

Dogs did not like it either. Despite hunger and thirst, they continued to remain at their posts, moving around furniture, further improving defenses on both floors, even a large chest was positioned at the top of the stairs as a barricade in case the 1st floor was lost. Filled with books, it was heavy and difficult to move, it would be a locked door to anyone that tried to get up to safety. Once dinner was eaten, the soldiers prepared themselves. In the fore front, gunners moved a howitzer to within 50 yards of the door, it's wheels muffled with slivers of cloth. Unseen, they primed their weapon and waited. Behind them, were 100 AK-47 totting cats, Zoo's shock troops. They were to storm into the breach and kill any survivors. Many wanted to go through the back as well at the same time, giving them an edge, yet Zoos was a simple cat and didn't like complex plans for fear they would fall apart. For this simple reason, he declined to do so, thus sealing many to a grizzly fate.

Watching from the street, Zoos looked at a captured gold pocket watch, then nodded to his aide, whom signaled for the great assault to begin. Jerking on the lanyard, the howitzer roared to life with an awful thunderclap.

In one single moment, a cannon ball collided with the door and exploded, sending splinters of wood and metal thrashing into the interior. Before the shock could wear off, cats came piling into the breach, yelling a high pitched yell, firing weapons wildly into stunned dogs. Caught in the kitchen, Dilger marched out to see what was happening. He saw the door collapse. Assuming this was it, he picked up his weapon and charged forth, emptying it into one opponent and swinging it wildly as a club afterward in an attempt to reach the door. Others nearby were trampled under foot by the numbers of cats coming in. Caught off guard, many dogs hid themselves into other rooms, yet a few, taken by Dilger's example, charged forth, firing their weapons and clubbing left and right. Their smoke quickly created a thick cloud that hung in the room, making the melee confusing with friends often shooting friends. Seeing from the kitchen that the battle was hopeless, all sense of staying left Arlene and Nermal, and sought to make a break for it in the confusion of battle and did so through via back yard without saying so much as bye. Their friend Odie was knocked to the ground closely, a cat lunged at him with an AK aimed at his chest. Pulling the trigger, nothing happened. It was empty. Quickly, Odie used his tongue, licking his foe in a shower of saliva. Stunned for only a moment, the cat let down his guard, allowing Odie to take this weapon away and break it over the cat's head. Another dog shot his musket at the entrance, the round went straight and true to it's target. Lieutenant Glex, a light gray tabby, remembers that sickening thud as the bullet struck it's target. "The soldier was hit, his whole body shuttered, his weapon dropped to the floor and he crumbled to his knees. Behind him, others shoved and stepped over and around his body trying to get in." Fire was being directed towards the gap, other cats outside began to fire as well through windows and doors with untold effect. So many bodies now clogged the door that it was impossible now to get in. Loading another shot, cannoneers fired a second time, scattering bodies and opening the gap once more.

When the cannon ball exploded downstairs, Calvin and Hobbes were trying their rest to relax. Hustling towards the stairs, they were greeted by a barrage of fire that sent them to the ground. The chest offered some safety for the moment. Glancing down below, they saw, through the haze, cats fighting dogs. Here and there, cats would pounce, dogs would claw their way from under piles, and clubs would be swung and thrown. It was madness. Two cats came in, firing their weapons wildly and mistakenly hit three of their own. It wasn't intentional, just evidence that cats lacked proper training.

With his shock troops already inside, Zoos committed over 300 additional soldiers into the house, to go in right for the breach. Already flinching from his vantage point, Zoos saw the carnage unfolding inside. It would be over quickly if he committed more troops and fast. Before they could even make head way though, sharpshooters fired at them from upstairs. Raw and green, they halted right in the middle of the front yard and began to return the sniper's fire.

"Get going you dawn fools!" Zoos cried out to them, "Don't stand there like statues!"

Pushed and prodded, the reinforcements got going again with a yell right through the breach. Seeing them as they did so, and seeing it was hopeless to continue fighting down here, Dilger tried to order those around them to flee up stairs, to save themselves. None heard his cry over the din of battle. Some thought they were the last survivors and vowed to continue on to the very last. The breach was very narrow, permitting only a few to get in a one time. Coupled with that were the strewn bodies of dead and wounded felines that were up to three deep.

Watching hopelessly, Calvin looked at his buddy, "We have to help them!" Hobbes agreed.

The two mustered up enough courage to make the journey down stairs and join the fray. Unsheathing his claws, Hobbes jumped right into it, pulling a cat off of a fallen dog and slit his throat. Behind him Calvin sought to find a weapon, a rifle, a club, anything he could use to compensate for his pint size. Pushing through the congestion, Hobbes literally picked up cats by the arm full and threw them back outside. To stop them, a cat charged with a rifle, bayonet attached. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Hobbes dodge this thrust just in time. Grabbing hold of this weapon with one hand, Hobbes back handed his attacker with the other, took possession of the rifle and shot the cat in the head, killing him instantly. Fights were up close and personal, using claws, teeth, kicking, and punching. Blood formed into puddles, soaking the carpet and making the tile kitchen slippery to tread on. Looking all around him, to his horror, Dilger found more of his around than his own soldiers. He could see the tiger near the front door, tossing out cats, then picked up a broom handle and barred the hole with it and his own body, preventing any more enemies from getting in. Despite the volume of fire directed at him, Hobbes wasn't hit. His bravery spurred a surge of energy for the dogs whom counter attacked. Even with automatic weapons, Zoo's shock troops were now the ones in trouble. Officers were the first ones inside, and thus the first to fall from counter fire. Their figures, usually taller, muscular looking, or pudgy, meaning well fed, made them easier to point out for snipers. In that case, when they fell, their soldiers began to grow unnerved. Behind them, sergeants threatened to shoot anyone that turned coward and ran away. Some decided to take their chances, threw down their weapons and began to make a break for it. Others attempted to surrender, only to be clubbed to death by dogs, ignoring their pleas, or even by outraged comrades. Vicious animals trampled wounded and shot them outright. Boxer came upon two cats, one was propped up against a wall, he was playing dead. Taking up a discarded rifle, Boxer placed it right against the animal's skull. In fright, the cat came to life.

"No, please!" it cried. Pulling the trigger ended this incident. A few feet away, another cat lay on it's back, wounded in the chest by a rifle round. Coughing up blood, it still wanted to fight and cursed dogs as they went about clearing up the mess. Not wanting to shed more blood, Boxer decided to take this one prisoner and had it removed to Calvin's parent's room. Once up there, though, he continued to spout profanity every which way, saying that Garfield will tear them limb from limb, that the revolution will soon be the new world order. Fed up, guards picked him up, vainly cried out, "Don't do it!" and threw the cat out a window.

As survivors streamed back to his line, Zoos ordered everyone to cease fire. Fear gripped him that his plan was a dismal failure and ordered his officers to get a head count and prepare to collect their bodies. In just twenty minutes, the battle sputtered out as survivors came running out through windows, leaving behind their weapons and blood. With adrenaline pumping, the dogs let loose a cry and began firing back in retribution. A blue flag was found buried underneath a mound of bodies inside. No one knew as to it's purpose, perhaps a signal flag, either way, it was cat and the dogs flaunted it out a window. But Dilger ordered them to stop. They had defeated this attack, but needed to save up their strength for another one. Gratified at his success, Dilger moved through the rooms to inspect the aftermath. Continuing to guard the door, Hobbes observed cats removing the howitzer and skulkers running away even after leaping over their barricades. Odie came through a hallway, his yellow skin tarnished with blood. He walked in a slump back and limp, being wounded in the ankle by a sliver of wood from the explosion and heard a knock coming from a closet. Opening it, Calvin came spilling out, yelling and flailing, sending out a string of childish profanity.

"Those brutes!" he cursed, "Threw me in their before I could really beat them! I would have torn them limb from limb"

Sighing, Odie let him be and met up with Dilger not far away to discuss another plan of action. Before the two could exchange words, a second explosion rocked the house and Dilger went down, bleeding profusely from his head. The cause wasn't determined, perhaps it was a grenade or an artillery shell, either case, only Dilger was wounded, severely, and the house felt it. Taking him to the kitchen, barked for Arlene to come. When she didn't, he tried to Nermal, no reply. It was there that everyone learned that both cats had flown the coup. Did they betray them? No, Odie thought, yes he thought. They weren't the kind, perhaps they found it to be a death trap and saved themselves. Either way, despite his short comings, the dog tried his best to nurse Dilger whom was still alive, even talking to his friends whom had gathered around to hear what might be his final words. The gig was up, he thought. Boxer reported that there were no dead on his side, but supplies were exhausted. Out of food, water, little ammunition, and trapped, Dilger had to come up with a plan to save his command. Surrender and throw themselves at the mercy of his attackers, whom would no doubt put them to the sword, or try and expedite an escape. As an officer, he looked for only the best for his soldiers, now he had decided. A sentry spotted a gap in Zoo's iron ring. It wasn't big, a hole large enough for a baby to crawl through in a far corner of the fence, so it was being over looked for the moment, perhaps that is where the two deserters went through. This presented the only chance for the dogs to possibly escape. Painfully sitting up, took a piece of paper and mapped out a predetermined point where he wanted his company to assemble later on, if possible. It was a park just three miles to the South west in a suburbs. It was quiet there, perhaps it would be overlooked by Garfield. Listening to their meeting from outside, Hobbes, ear pressed against a dilapidated wall, caught every word of it. Calvin came down, catching him.

"What's going on?" the boy asked.

"Looks like they are going to escape," Hobbes replied.

"Escape? Why?"

"Apparently they think it's hopeless," Hobbes added lowly.

Before Calvin could ask further, the meeting disbanded, and members came streaming out. Acting ignorant, Hobbes found Dilger and asked what to do next. Arlene and Nermal were gone, several of his soldiers were wounded yet able to continue on. Seems that their diligent training had paid off. when it comes to these dogs, they prefer quality over quantity. Even so, it was useless to stay around and wait for another attack.

"We have established a rally point not too far away. We will break out quietly and meet up there." Dilger said.

"Break out? With those cats out there?" Calvin hissed.

"It's our only chance." Dilger added. Looking around at his soldiers, he concluded it was time. "Save yourselves as best you can."

One immediately jumped and scurried away. He was safe. No shots were fired. As the night wore on, by ones and two, dogs began to slip out of the house, never alerting enemy sentries just yards away. There was no farewells, no good byes, just quiet departures all aimed for that one small gap in a fence. Squeezing through, Boxer saw an alley way before him and took it, believing it led to safety. As his numbers dwindled, Dilger sat patiently in the living room, a dirty bandage wrapped around to stanch the bleeding. Taking up the very blanket he used to stomp out the kitchen fire, Hobbes used it to plug the gap in the door way.

"There's a breeze coming through," he joked in doing so, but no one laughed.

Dilger sat just yards away, silent. He watched as his company began to disperse, one by one. Sitting on the damaged staircase, Calvin clutched an AK-47 taken from a dead cat. Nervously, his eyes darted around at the front windows, fully expecting another assault to come.

"You should go," Dilger said to him, once everyone had gone.

"No," responded Calvin, "this is my home, and I won't let them take it."

Nodding knowingly, Dilger rose up, and marched towards the back. Now was his turn to go. Calvin didn't see his flight, just heard him climb out a window. Coming down from above, Hobbes told him, "They are all gone, including the cats."

"Very well, now G.R.O.S.S owns the fort," Calvin said, rising up.

"What do we do now, Supreme Dictator?" Hobbes asked, shouldering a rifle of his own.

"I say we defend this house to the last," defiantly.

"Hear, Hear!"

It was just the two of them now. The bodies of the cats were thrown outside and an unofficial cease fire was agreed upon for the cats to claim them. No dogs were killed in the assault, just a few wounded, and they were gone now. Hobbes collected rifles by droves, stacking them against the walls next to windows in preparedness for another attack. "I'll take the 1st floor, you take the 2nd," suggested Hobbes.

"Agreed" said Calvin, spurring up the stairs.

When he was out of sight, Hobbes sank down and began to think to himself. Those were fellow felines out there. Despite his fondness of Calvin and his oath of loyalty, he felt that his instincts and bond were in conflict. What should he do? He couldn't betray his best friend. All those years of fun and adventure would be put to waste if he galvanized himself for the sake of his blood.

Before the tiger could come up with a definitive answer, the cats came charging again. It was dawn now, the sun just peaking above the horizon. A light mist clung to the ground as a body of felines came, this time from all four sides. Fire erupted, barrels came through windows and fired wildly, home made grenades exploded, smoke began to fill up again.

"Here they come! Let them have it!" Calvin cried down below, unleashing burst after burst of rifle fire. Calvin could hear Hobbes also fire as well, it was loud, coming in short bursts. All of a sudden, the fire from abruptly stops. Unleashing one last burst of fire, Calvin paused to reload his weapon, when he noticed this. Pulling away from his perch, he cautiously approached the stair way, all the while, calling out to his buddy. "Hobbes?" No answer. Descending, he called out yet again, no reply. At the bottom, he looked to his immediate right, into the remains of the living room, there, Hobbes sat on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, head lowered. Clustered around him were his captors, all of whom were alarmed when they saw Calvin standing nearby, eyes and mouth open to their fullest extent.

"Get him!" one cried and a shower of lead came flying towards the boy whom ran away down the hall. Cats followed. To his horror, Calvin found his way trapped. Before he could come up with a plan, a butt stroke knocked him to the ground, then commenced a brutal pummeling of weapons and fists as the cats took their vengeance on him. An officer soon broke up this tarried, "He lives. Get them both outside!" he ordered. Blindfolded and hustled outside, the two were immediately separated, Hobbes being taken to an undisclosed location as Calvin was herded onto a truck, operated by a human under guard. Already inside were several dogs and humans from various homes. He didn't recognize any voices until one came to his ear, it that of a young girl, sulking in the distance. It had to be Susie Derkins, a neighbor and school mate.

"Susie?" Calvin called out as he was being pushed onboard.

Recognizing the voice, the girl looked around. She too was blindfolded.

"Calvin, what in the world did you do now?" she asked in a high pitch scream.

"Whoa, easy, I didn't do anything," in his own defense. Sitting down, the truck began to rumble away, taking them to some prisoner camp, so they hoped. To cats, it was just a batch of prisoners that needed to be handled with. No time for most soldiers to deal with now. With the house cleared, Zoos went into a tirade. Where were all the bodies? He fully expected to see dead enemy bodies inside from all the carnage he had unleashed onto this house, and not one could be accounted for except two prisoners whom survivors confessed did not battle them, to their knowledge. They must have escape. That wouldn't be good news to send to Gold whom had pushed the rest of his brigades forward, well away from this contest. When asked by a subordinate what they write in an official report, Zoos calmly collected, "Inform Gold that we have seized the house and burned it to the ground."

Wielding torches, cats began to rummaging through rooms, taking anything of value, then setting it afire. As it began to burn, Hobbes had his blindfold removed by several officers.

"He's a cat," said one of them.

"Yes, I am," he muttered in response.

"Do you know where the dogs went?"

"Yes, I'll show you. Give me a map."

Reorganizing his brigade, Zoos now had to set about to get them moving again to catch up with the rest of Gold's division whom were pressing further into capital. Before departing, the house that caused so much trouble, was set ablaze by gasoline. Being led away, Calvin saw his house go up and broke down, weeping into his shackled hands.

Watching the fire consume the house, Zoos sighed. As his troops filed past, up the road, he looked them over. Most were still green, inexperienced, and some not worthy to be soldiers, and yet they were going by, heads held high as if the war had been won already.

"This war isn't over by a long shot," he said to himself. Testament to that were the ninety-five bodies of fellow felines that were left behind to be buried, the consequence of Zoo's rash attack. As a small token of retribution, Zoos also added that he recaptured the blue flag, which turned out to be a home made flag from a group of strays from Yorktown. Called the Yorktown Guards, totaling 40, they were involved in the confusing battle and lost all but six of their members.

It was a brief march up the roads to catch up with Gold, whom had established her head quarters in a lofty hotel just shy of down town. Outside, it was absolute chaos as humans tried to get away from the fighting. Dogs were everywhere as well, some fighting, others running. Again, cohesion was lost as cats, with their dander up, broke away to settle old scores. Here and there, battles would rage up in one house, then die down a moment, only to be kicked up again next door. On Rancher Street, a rather small, congested road that led to nowhere important to the South west, it was a side street boarded by high fences and apartment buildings. Deserted. No battle had reached this part of town yet. Running hard, Boxer and two others came through this sector, pausing briefly to catch their breath. They had managed to break out from the house the night before but were unsure if any others had. From the time they fled, they heard rifle shots being exchanged. Perhaps other teams were ambushed. Perhaps Dilger was dead. If that was the case, Boxer would be in command of the company. Sensing the worst, they vowed to find others to link up with to carry on the fight. As the three rested, a head popped up from one of the fences, startling the trio. A familiar voice soothed their feathers, "Boxer, is that you?"

It was Dilger. He made it out. With him were twelve others. In this alley way, the group settled down to consolidate on the next plan of action. Despite a headache, Dilger mapped out his next move. They were only a mile away from the park, perhaps they could reach it in less than half an hour. Only one problem faced them, the narrow, maze of alleyways provided no direct path to it, instead it led every which way. It would take valuable time, once more, there was a fear of snipers hiding up in buildings or a possible ambush. None of them had knowledge also that Hobbes had surrendered and Calvin captured. All they knew was, they had to find a way out of this maze of suburbs and find others. Pawing out a surface to write on in the road, Dilger kneeled down and sketched out what he believed the neighborhoods looked like. Concurring with others, he mapped out a path. It was a little confusing in their fatigued minds, yet, all of them were confident that they could reach a safe haven with Dilger leading them. As the sound of gun fire approached, Dilger wrapped up his plans and began to march. His comrades followed.

At that very moment, a car screamed up the alley way and stopped a short distance from them. Alarmed, the dogs readied their weapons and sought cover. Doors opened, and cats began piling out.

"They're cavalry!" one yelled frantically, emptying his rifle as cats began disembarking. Behind them came several more cars. Before they could even coast to a stop, cats began jumping out of windows and doors, firing as they did with automatic weapons. Not wanting to miss a moment of this battle, they, the cats, begin firing wildly as the dogs let loose a ragged volley from their remaining ammunition and beat a hasty retreat, again dispersing, under command, into yards and back alleys. Not wanting to slug it out but get to the rally point, they did so in a haste that the cats were force to pursue after only a moment to fire. What follows was a running fire fight in every direction as small groups of opponents met and ran. Testament to such carnage occurred to Boxer. Alone in unfamiliar territory, he rounded behind a shed of a back yard and collided with a cat.

"He was completely black," Boxer remembered, "except for a white star on his chest. He carried a carbine and tried to fire it at arms length, but it didn't. Quickly, I raised up my own rifle, muzzle right in the center of his chest, and fired. He died and I ran." Again, Dilger's company was scattered. It was every animal for himself.

Not far from this running fight, Gold sat in her head quarters along with her officers and a most questionable prisoner.

"So, Mr. Hobbes. My officers inform me that you pointed out a rally point to where those dogs fled to. I might say though, I find it rather odd that someone such as you would turn against his friends."

"They aren't my friends," he responds in a calm voice.

"You were found in a house that was occupied by dogs. How do we know you didn't help them?" she asked.

Thinking quickly, Hobbes produced his explanation, "I was being held prisoner there by those dogs. If it wasn't for you, they might have killed me."

Thinking to herself, Gold rose up from her chair, "Mr. Hobbes, you gave us information as to where that rally point would be and it is true that we caught several dogs nearby, engaged them, and killed them. Now, we are willing to over look your past if you are willing to join our cause as a scout and point out the way through town."

His words were enough to convince Gold that he was indeed a prisoner of the dogs. "Well, Mr. Hobbes, perhaps then you might be of some use to cause, if you wish to join us."

"Sure," he replied.

Hobbes was informed that his information in regard to the fleeing enemy was accurate and led to the destruction of "a large enemy force." If that was true, then Dilger and his bunch were dead. But what about Calvin? Holding his tongue about this human, the tiger was given a map to show where other dogs might be hiding. At the same time, miles away, snaking through the maze of roads was the prisoner convoy, consisting of one truck and one car, both with guards. Some time ago, they discovered that they were lost, and went about in circles trying to find a familiar road or landmark, to no avail. The truck lumbered and rolled, bouncing every which way as they hit pot holes. No one was permitted to talk, just the guards whom chatted on how well their revolution was going. Then, there was a low explosion and everything came to a sudden halt, throwing everyone in the trailer forward in a tangled mass. Pulling themselves free, the guards jumped out to see what was happening, only to be greeted by a shower of lead that sent them running, leaving their prisoners to fend for themselves. What was it though that routed them? Was is Dilger and is company, or perhaps another militia group. No one knew for certain because in a brief moment of battle, everything subsided, seems that both sides withdrew. Pulling himself from under the tangle of bodies, Calvin removed his blind hold. Finding others unharmed and doing the same, he scooted out towards the tail gate. Looking around, he found that there was no one around. Unhooking the tailgate, he jumped down, still shackled. Guards were gone, was it a trick or did they run away? Sensing it was safe, he informed others as well, whom were trying to break free of their bonds. Some had rope others had irons, so some were not able to, they needed keys and they were on the guards, and they were gone. Just as quickly as it began, the fight subsided, cats have fled, leaving their prisoners to fend for themselves. Everyone did so. Free of their guards, prisoners jumped out and made a break for it, running for the houses and yards beyond. Cursing to himself, Calvin looked around, the truck sat on the side of the road, in front of it was a white Cadillac, it too was abandoned. Susie was the last out, having undone her ropes. "It's eerily quiet," she confessed. Calvin agreed.

There was also no sign of Hobbes. Where was he? Was he in the car? Or did the cats take him away to some torture chamber that will conduct awful experiments to try and get him to confess and tell him the whereabouts of underground movements and secret hideouts. What if he tells them the G.R.O.S.S oath!

"Hey, noodle brain! Wake up! What should we do now?" yelled Susie.

Snapping back to reality, "I say we take the car for a spin," the boy smiled evilly.

"Oh no"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Calvin and Hobbes, nor Susie Garfield, Arlene, Nermal, Jon, Davis. Only Dilger, Divet, Boxer, Gold, etc., are my creations.

A train huffed and hissed as it came to a stop inside the local train yard. Laden with combat gear of all sorts and at least fifty cars long, this was the first in a series of six with supplies for Gold's forces, including fifty-four new artillery pieces fresh from Muncie factories made from blue prints from Garfield's own hand. With the capital finally in her firm grip, Gold set about fortifying this new position with these guns and commenced to cleaning it up as well for her grand leader's arrival. Sitting in a lounge in a captured four star hotel, Gold and her staff, including Hobbes, dined on fine food appropriated from locals as she set about to finish her detailed report on the past few days actions.

"All bodies, garbage, and debris was cleared up from the streets," one officer noted, "then the walls were cleaned up by prisoner details. It was almost as if nothing had happened."

It was a ghastly business taking Indianapolis, with some small pockets of resistance still holding out, Gold noted in her official report that taking the city was easy, resistance light, and casualties extremely light. Perhaps she was being modest or ignorant of what was happening around her, either case, it wasn't true. Dilger's stalwart company were the only major resistance Gold's Division faced as they inflicted terrible casualties from Bean Hill all the way to the suburbs.

"I enclose onto you, my great leader, that we have captured over 60,000 prisoners that will be to your liking. I have begin constructing forts all around the outskirts of the city that will require their hands and tools as well. We have also uncovered over 5,000 enemy bodies that were disposed of. Also included, sir, is a prisoner I believe you will find to your liking. He's a yellow short hair with big floppy brown ears, wide eyes, and a constantly wagging tail."

It was Odie. Captured not far from where he attempted to make his escape, he now sat in a dimly lit, dank cellar just beneath where Gold and her staff were celebrating. He sat there, back pressed against the cold concrete, a naked light bulb, half dead, provided the only illumination, trying to look at all the faces of other prisoners surrounding him. No one looked familiar. In his pea sized shaped mind, Odie wondered and prayed that everyone else got out alive because his fate remained uncertain.

Several miles away, as Odie languished, a car careened down the suburbs followed by high pitched screams of two youngsters. Weaving every which way, Calvin struggled to turn the unruly steering wheel, trying to keep the car on both lanes. It was in vain for his lack of knowledge forced him to run over the edges of sidewalks. "Brakes! No, gas!" Calvin was shouting down to Susie whom was operating the pedals with her own hands as he steered. The confusion, often rapid verbal orders, dumbfounded her. Unable to respond correctly, the two soon found themselves in an awkward angle along the side of the road. The door flew up. Alarmed, both children shrieked. Their mettle soon calmed when they found it to be dogs, even better, they were Dilger's dogs.

"Son, I believe you have used up your gas," Dilger calmly said, carefully pealing Calvin's white knuckle hands from the steering wheel. It was difficult for the two of them, Calvin and Susie, to come to grips what was happening. They had just been on a nerve racking ride through the suburbs, their homes were destroyed, and Hobbes was missing. Clustered around the car were the tattered, bloodies, remnants of Dilger's command, only a dozen.

"Where's the rest of your dogs?" Calvin asked as he nervously stepped out onto the pavement.

"Dead," he replied solemnly.

Susie was adamant, "What is going on? Cats took over my house! I was playing and petting one of those cute white and brown ones then I was jumped by six or seven of them, they threw me onto a truck..."

"It's a war, Susie!" exploded Calvin, "Don't you get it? It's cats versus dogs, and we are in the middle of it! There are no more curtsy kitten and puppies, just soldiers and maniacs!"

"How did you find us?" Calvin asked as the company began to march again, taking to the narrow alleyways, out of sight of vigilant eyes.

Boxer responded with almost laughter, "It was easy. We followed the crashes and girlish screams."

Embarrassed as he was, Calvin put up a proud face, at least he was no longer a prisoner once his shackles were cut off. Able to move around at last, the boy went with the dogs. Where to now though? According to Boxer, a fall back plan, of sorts, was in the works. Everyone was to go to Greenwood, a small town just south of the capital.

"What about the rally point?" Calvin asked.

"The cats were there waiting for us," Boxer informed them, "someone must have talked.

"Where's Hobbes? Have you seen him?" he asked.

"No, but I bet he's the one who did," Boxer muttered.

"What! How dare you!" with that, the boy lashed out, jumping onto the aide, but was immediately pulled off by soldiers. "You take that back! Hobbes is nota traitor! He would never talk!"

It was a group of refugees, mostly children and old people huddled behind a small rise, under a makeshift tent from the blistering sun. Seeing armed dogs moving about them forced the already edgy humans to snap. "They going to kill us!" one shouted, jumping to his feet and making a ran across the field. No one attempted to stop them, it was one less to worry about. Rumors and fear were universal, no one wanted to listen as the two children tried to convince them that they were friendly, that cats were the enemy and they were here to help them. No matter though, just minutes after their arrival, shells began to crash around the camp, throwing up mounds of dirt, rock, and other debris. It was artillery. Enemy artillery. Did they follow them? Did the cats somehow trace them to here? Skirting the South side of the rise, Dilger went to take a look for himself, thinking it was impossible. He covered his trail well, no one could have moved that fast with artillery. He also noted that most of the shells were exploding harmlessly into the North face of the rise. Even so, the people hiding were in a panic state and were prepared to make a break for it. Within moments, dogs scattered, taking cover wherever possible as Dilger finally caught a glimpse of what he now had to face. Crawling up on his hands and knees was Calvin, he wanted to see for himself.

"Mom would never get me a cannon for my birthday," he muttered to himself. A shell exploded right in front of them, forcing the party to duck as moist brown dirt rained down on their heads. From what could be seen, a pair of small artillery pieces were positioned on a slightly high rise a half mile away and throwing shell after shell seemingly at random. Anything that moved was shot at with shell or solid shot. During lulls in the fire, laughter could be heard coming from the gunners.

"We have to take those guns out!" Calvin shouted.

"Right!" Dilger shouted above the roar. He turned to his aide and began to shot, "Give me three..." before he could finish his order, his eyes rolled up and the leader crumbled into the soft earth of the trench. Coming to his aide, Boxer cradled his commander and discovered that he was still alive, if barely.

"What's wrong with him?" Calvin asked.

"He's wounded," Boxer replied, "I need to get him back to be treated. I'll send three soldiers with you. You will lead them."

Calvin nearly fell in on himself, "Me?"

Boxer departed before Calvin could begin his cursing tirade. His three companions, grimy, hungry, and red eyed came up and stared, waiting to hear his plan of attack. Still without a weapon, the boy looked at all of them. Everyone was tired, and this shelling wasn't doing any good for their nerves. As another shell exploded close by, Calvin finally gathered up his courage. "Here's the plan."

As the boy drew out on the soft soil, just a half mile away, the pair of guns continued to blaze away with crews clustered around, some joking, resting, learning. Unbeknownst to them, three dogs and one boy were crawling forward on their right. Using high grass to their benefit, the assault team approached at their enemies flank. Once in position, satisfied that they could do great damage and wouldn't back down, Calvin readied himself. Given a muzzleloader from a soldier, he carefully took aim. His hands trembled, trying to hold the bulky weapon steady in a prone position. To his left was one soldier, to his right, two others. All were waiting for his command. Their foe still did not detect their presence and no more enemies were within the vicinity, all they had to do now was fire and charge. A weak volley would be enough to stun their foe and before they could react, the dogs would on to them. Twenty cats were all they were facing, operating out of two pick up trucks and two human drivers. No wonder they got here so fast. This was it now. Drawing in a deep breath, Calvin closed his left eye, looking down the sight on his right, then slowly pulled the trigger.

Crack. Pop!

A cat suddenly collapsed at the first gun. Alarmed, other cats looked about. Dogs then fired as well.

Crack. Pop!

Crack. Pop!

Crack. Pop!

Three more crumbled as well. Shouts and call, confusion reigned supreme as Calvin stood on his jello legs and began to charge forward, his voice dry as he tried to let out a fearsome roar. Crews at the first gun quickly abandoned their piece and made a run for it as their comrades at gun number 2 began to turn their weapon around to confront this attack. Still running with a full head of steam, Calvin reached his first gun, kneeled behind the wheel, pressed his weapon through the spokes and tried to fire, only to discover that he did not reload his weapon. With no more to load it with, the boy sought desperately for a weapon to use as his followers were already dealing death. The lanyard! The gun was already loaded and ready to fire, all he needed was to turn it about. Cats were scattering towards the North, but gun number 2 was still active and about to fire on them. Scrambling to his feet, Calvin began to turn the piece around himself as bullets nicked the wheel and tube. Unfazed, as if in a trance, the boy turned it around completely on his own as his dog soldiers continued to fire away at retreating cats. His opponents were no more than 30 yards away, and doing the same, it was an old fashion western shoot out, only with artillery pieces. Somehow, either by luck or fortune, Calvin beat the enemy into putting his gun to bare, aimed it and jerked the lanyard, throwing out a wall of white hot smoke and flame.

BOOM

When the smoke cleared seconds later, the second gun lay silent. All other enemy soldiers were scattered, bailing out on their two trucks. Darn. Could have used them. His fellow soldiers came to the boy to congratulate him on his quick thinking.

"Mom wouldn't let me have a cannon," he recalled, "now I see why" smiling evilly.

So small of an incident as it was, Gold didn't bother to inspect the incident herself. Instead, she dispatched Hobbes to inspect the sight. He arrived on a pick up truck with a large contingent of guards. The bodies of slain gunners were still there, undisturbed, but their guns were long gone. Calvin, Boxer, refugees, all were long since gone. Where could they go? Looking down at the landscape, the tiger got onto his hands and knees, inhaling earth, foliage, sensing his environment. Those around raised eyebrows. Still, Hobbes drew onto this a sharp conclusion.

"They went south. That's where we should go as well," he reported.

Caught by surprise, the crews scattered, running for their vehicles as bullets slay comrades all around them. Dog fire was accurate and rapid as they picked up enemy weapons. The fearsome AK-47 was now in reach and they cut down scores of fleeing enemy soldiers. Those manning the field piece were instantly ripped apart, this one fell silent.

Laboring down a dry trail, choked up by clog of dust, with no water or food, the people moved like zombies under a now blazing sun. No matter, if anyone could pursue, they didn't. Shouldering his weapon proudly, Calvin walked in the midst of his own kind as the dogs led the way through the outskirts of Greenwood only to discover, much to their horror, that conditions there not much better than that at the capital a few days prior. Dogs and refugees jammed into the sparse living quarters of tenants and into yards. Water supplies, already short, were virtually exhausted in quenching the thirst of all these new arrivals.

"This is sad," commented Calvin as he pushed his way though, "how do you expect to win a war like this?"

No one had an answer to that.

Hobbes pulled up to the hotel again, marching past sentries at the front steps. He brushed part them, right into Gold's office where he found the general taking a cat nap, "Ah, Mr. Hobbes. Returning from you voyage I see?" said Gold relaxing in her red velvet pillow.

"Yes,"

"What news do you bring?" she asked before yawning and stretching her limbs.

"The squirts got away, along with two artillery pieces."

The news didn't seem to stun the general as she stepped off of her pillow and walked away towards a large dinner table where fresh salmon had been prepared for her.

"Mr. Hobbes, where do you think the rebels have fled to?" sitting herself in a chair.

"I believe they have retreated towards Greenwood, south of us. If we move fast, he can hit them while they are still unprepared."

Taking this in, Gold nibbled on the meat, lifted her head up to stare at the ceiling for a moment then looked back at the tiger. "Our leader is sending a fresh division to hold this town. Should be arriving in a few hours. Once they arrive, then we'll hunt them down. Until then, I want you to draw out the plan of attack."

"As you wish" Hobbes replied, bowing slightly before departing the room.

Taking advisors under his wing, Hobbes retreated to a map room. Posted on a wall was a map to the entire state, neatly drawn out with solid red square stickers marking where future forts would be positioned. Once he had gathered enough officers inside the small room, Hobbes closed the door and addressed them, "Gentlemen, General Gold has given me permission to map out our next attack plan. We have the rebels now on the run. We know where they're going and if we move fast, we can destroy them for good." His words were carefully chosen and brought smiles onto the faces of the worn out officers.

Reading the map, Hobbes discovered that several roads led directly into town, but he didn't want to take them. Instead, he wanted to approach in a different fashion, one that would throw his enemy out of balance, attack in a direction where his opponent wasn't expecting. Looking closer, an officer pointed out a patch of old swamp land to the North west of Greenwood. A road used to go through there, but has since been overgrown and useless. Hobbes delved deeper into the this, the road, after leaving Indianapolis, went south east for ten miles then curved due south, going through dense forest before coming across what was a shallow depression that has since been consumed into a swamp. Further south was a long ridge that ran west and east, covered with fat rocks. It didn't seem logical to attack through terrain such as this. the division would be congested, confined to one road and impaired, but Hobbes surmised that this would be the best method, because the enemy wouldn't expect them to come through such an awful place. Hobbes had it all mapped out and once it was submitted to Gold, she immediately green lighted it as the first trains of replacements began to arrive. Why so fast? Many officers rumored that Gold had fallen for the tiger. They could see the smirks, eye contact, and winks they exchanged with one another, plus the constant "meetings" they had ever since he was taken prisoner. Something was suspicious about him, but couldn't quite put their finger on it. Hobbes was being given a lot of permission that other high ranking revolution leaders have never had. Despite their grumbling, no one would challenge the judgement of Gold whom had ties to Garfield, the leader himself. Taking their moment to complain, their focus now shifted to a spect on the map called Greenwood.

In Greenwood, nothing was going right. Boxer had called a meeting with the local lodges and any survivors to try and form up a plan or an alliance. Finding a seat was rather difficult for Calvin whom took glares and hisses for being human. A seat was offered behind a podium where Boxer was set to speak, yet, despite his teachings, Boxer was no Dilger in the use of tongue. But, before he could even talk, fights began to break out as rival lodges contested one another. Articals of clothing, assorted debris including glass, wood, metal, and furniture began to be hurled through the confines of a large, abadoned bar. Each one had their own agenda, no one listened to the other. They were worse than humans. Watching them fuss and whine over meager incidents such as the differences between dry and wet food and collars, the boy grew disgusted and promptly set out alone, heading back north.

"Whoa, boy, where you going?" Boxer caught sight of Calvin.

"I'm leaving!" he spat.

"That's north! The cats are that way!" Boxer informed him.

The fighting began to die down as the boy's voice reigned over them, "I know, but it's better than this place. You dogs are so infected with your petty squabbling that you forgotten your pledges and your commitments. I won't take this anymore!", brandishing his rifle, moving with anger and motivation, "I say we fight! I'm going out there to face them. Alone if I have to! Whose with me? Who? Who! Whose with me!" As he stormed off, someone from the crowd raised his hand, "I'm with ya!" he replied, rushing through to join up. Others began to do so as well.

"I'm with you!" became the call as the boy marched back north, a long line of followers went with him.

"By George, I believe we have a leader," Dilger said to Boxer.

As the cats addled up, onto pickup trucks, cars, whatever had wheels in preparation to march, Gold came down to inspect them. "Mr. Hobbes, we have 26,000 soldiers under arms in this division. I would say that would be more than enough to handle this town, wouldn't you say?"

Hobbes nodded in agreement. The general mounted a truck, sitting in the passenger seat as Hobbes climbed into the cabin. Everyone was loaded into an impressive convoy nearly a mile long. Human drivers were forced up armed guards to do their bidding. Gold led them forward, following a map that Hobbes had drawn out. Slowly, steadily, the 1st Division began to trickle out of the capital as 2nd Division arrived to begin constructing fortifications. All was going good thus far, the map was precise and Gold believed the word of galvanized Hobbes that they could win a deceive victory if they moved fast enough.

At the same time, Calvin moved at the double quick. A scout, using a mirror to flash a warning in Morse code to those in Greenwood, reported that he saw a large enemy convoy taking off towards the South. What direction though? Calvin was puzzled and approached a local under the name of Davis whom owns a house near the very swamp. Knocking on the door, an old, balding, hunch over man appeared at the door. Scared at first, the old man refused to answer. Pleading that he needed their help, Calvin persuaded the man to point out where the road that cats were on was heading. "That place is a trap. It's a cul-de-sac because of the heavy rains turned the whole place into a swamp, there's no way out of there," Davis informed them, "that old road hasn't been used in years."

Sensing a chance, Calvin asked if there's a short cut to get to this ridge.

"It's most urgent we get there as quickly as possible"

"Yes," Davis replied, pointing behind his house. "There's an old trail I cleared out recently that leads there. I tell you, if you climb that ridge to watch the sun set, you will never find a better place anywhere in the world."

Sad, Calvin wasn't there for a sun set, he was in a race. A do or die face. Thanking this local, Calvin rushed behind the house, there indeed, he found a narrow trail snaked through all the way. It was only a two mile walk, but still, the dogs had to hurry if they were to beat the cats to this place. Huffing and puffing on their paws, cats rolled on rubber wheels, the two forces were about to collide in the biggest battle ever in the revolution.

Bouncing around in the cabin of the open top pick up, Hobbes groaned as he hit his head repeatedly on the back window. What a drive. Approaching the turn south, everything was going right for him. Having the life he truly desired, luxury, prestige, respect, he smiled to himself as the 1st Cat Division, following his direction, roared down the old road at a slow pace, rumbling over roots, pushing aside fallen trees, and splashing through deep puddles.

"Oh, lordy" he sighed to himself. Every thing was peaceful, too peaceful to his taste. Something was about to happen. Tiger instincts were never wrong. Something was about to throw this entire operation out of focus. As he though about this, the truck began to lose speed. Looking up, a fallen tree blocked the road. Darn, it was so close to the clearing, they could barely see the swamp just down the road. Not bothering to step outside, Gold directed the tiger to clear this obstacle then move ahead, on foot, to investigate the swamp to see if the road was washed out or not. Obeying, Hobbes and a detachment of soldiers quickly ripped apart the tree then proceeded on foot southward.

On the ridge already, the dogs went to work, feverishly digging holes behind the fat rocks. There was a big battle coming their way, everyone could sense it. the wide swamp, the meat in a sandwich as they called it, proved to be a hearty obstacle to overcome for an attacker, problem was, the cat's didn't know enough about it yet. A road "did" use to come through here, just like Davis had said, but now, nothing. Their long line of defensive works ran west and east for a half mile manned by an undetermined number of available dogs and a handful of humans, mostly young boys. The two artillery pieces were also pressed up. Unable to navigate through the crevices of the rocks, the pieces were dismantled and moved them in pieces, one on each flank. Ammunition for these guns was improvised with powder and bits of nails and glass, whatever could be scrounged up. As his fatigued dogs digged holes, Dilger found perch on the highest rock on the ridge. He was out of the fight, just there to observe. What was left of his company now fell onto Boxer. Climbing up to meet with him, Calvin remarked on how calm the dog leader was. As if the whole rest of the world didn't matter, only what lay before him.

"A big battle is coming," said Calvin.

"Yes, one that could break our fellowship forever." Dilger replied, never taking his gaze off the forest.

A light wind kicked up from the West, cooling the workers as they set about their task. However, one dog was fed up of staying behind rocks. Divet, an itchy pincher, with a score to settle, jumped down from the ridge line and went towards the woods, taking with him, several dogs. No one bothered to stop him, because no one liked him. If he were to be killed, then it would only improve their situation. Finding the swamp chest deep, Divet pressed on, wading through it and went into the tree line without pausing to form up those that went with him. It was a bold, reckless maneuver with certain consequences for Calvin and Dilger. The two parties, bumbling towards each other, finally collided. What resulted was a short yet sharp fire fight. Hobbes ducked and weaved his way out of it to report to Gold that he came into contact with, "A small force" of the enemy.

To this day, no one knew why, but Gold ordered her entire division to be deployed for battle. Disembarking from trucks, officers pushed soldiers into formations as the fire fight petered out, only temporarily. Hearing the ringing shots, everyone became alert as Divet's puny unit blazed away into the forests. In just moments, from both flanks, came a solid wall of cats. Climbing up trees and from undergrowth, their foe fire onto them. Bullets whizzed from virtually every direction. Watching in horror as the unit was being decimated before their very eyes, dogs on the ridge pleaded to go in and assist. Boxer remained stead fast, they had their foe now, "Divet is doing his duty, let him be." For twenty minutes, he did. Small scale charges and counter charges yielded no results in a deadly stalemate as Gold committed more and more forces into the fray. Flanked on both sides and losing his soldiers at every second, Divet finally gave in.

"Run for your lives!" he yelled over the din. Just as he uttered those words, a bullet burrowed into his chest. Incapacitated, he was left behind as his shattered unit ran for their lives right into the swamp, cats right on their heals. Just in time to watch the route, Gold herself, accompanied by Hobbes came to the tree line to inspect the battle. Able to see dogs running through the swamp, her soldiers firing on them as they did so, Gold sank comfortably into her seat knowing that the battle was off to a good start.

"Array my forces and prepare to carry the ridge," she casually stated to Hobbes, "take the ridge and press on till all of those pooches are gone. I wish to witness this great victory."

Her proud division advanced in grand style. An event that would be pictured and cherished by those whom witnessed it as they went, in military fashion, like excerpts taken from Garfield's Civil War book with soldiers arranged in line of battle, shoulder to shoulder, two ranks deep, colors with their guards in the center of each regiment gently flapping as they were being carried forward. All was silent now as the brigades began to wade into the swamp. No shots were exchanged, the dogs waited patiently with their rifles resting on the fat rocks. For as far as the eye could see, there were cats of all sorts and types, strays, domesticated, short haired and tabbies, all bound together by one common thread, revolution. Both sides watched awe struck as the brigades began to cross. The swamp was only 100 yards at it's widest, the tangled mess of undergrowth and water began to tear the formations apart as cats shirked, still afraid of their water phobia. Under threats of officers and sergeants, they pressed on, assorted weapons resting on their shoulders as dry land now came within inches of their water logged paws.

Sitting on a rock near the center of their drive, Calvin waited impatiently as his targets began to form at his feet. "They look like ants," he naively said to Dilger whom was more focused on command. Knowing it was time to take action, the two picked up their rifles and took aim. Their shots would signal the rest to commence a terrible slaughter.

After wading across, finally reaching dry land, the first cats began to form up and advance again on the ridge. There was still no suitable cover for the first fifty yards, then there was some shrubs, and behind that was the first line of dog works. Thinking now that they had beaten their foe, Zoo's brigade took their time in forming up on the opposite shore, dressing ranks, getting head counts, and drying off. Looking over his formation, Zoo's fixation on failure began to subside, having dealt with that enemy force prior, his belief that he faced a token and shattered force was realized as he started to get them going at last, with their brave leader in the lead.

That was enough, Dilger and Calvin took aim at two cats not more than 100 yards away and pulled their triggers setting forth the Battle of Bloody Ridge. Two seemingly random shots were acknowledged by a horrible sheet of yellow flame that came from the entire ridge line. Cats began to crumble in heaps, struck in the head, abdomen, torso, legs, bullets ripped into them, carrying away flesh, muscle, organs as they whined and yelped before falling into pools of blood. Zoos felt a sting and tug at his shoulder, looking down at it, he realized that he had been hit was bleeding profusely. Racked already with an illness and now loss of blood, Zoos was no longer in the fight. A few of his soldiers volunteered to take him to the rear, perhaps turning yellow as his brigade already began to crumble under the terrible weight of firepower they were facing. Even so, they braved the torrent of shot and shell to get their general to safety. Twelve soldiers went with him, eight, including the general himself, made it across. Instead of reporting to his superior, Zoos found a patch of soft grass in which to sit and be tended to. Not very far away, Gold was seen, removed from her truck. She had discovered a fallen tree log in which to sit. Hobbes was with her, reading from a pocket watch that the time was 3:41 p.m, just two minutes into the battle, and already, the division was hard pressed.

BRAP BRAP BRAP

Soldiers with AK-47s or other automatic weapons began to spray the ridge line with fire in hopes of surpressing their hidden foe, to no avail. "Come on! Follow me!" officers shouted as they braved the fire to try and scale the works, only to be shot down along with all that followed. Clsuters of soldiers began to scoop up rocks to build up walls of their own in hopes of creating a cover only to discover that the dogs could fire down on them.

Looking down his sights, Calvin steadied his rifle on one soldier whom seemed to be frozen in the small strip of dry land. After one shot, the character didn't move, so Calvin fired at it again and again. Having used up five shots on it, Calvin grew furious, "I hit him! I hit him five times and he didn't move!" Believing that his weapon was too weak.

Dilger casually looked away from his scope for a moment, "He's been dead since this started. I shot him." Then resumed his firing. Taking up some more ammunition, Calvin jumped down from his boulder and ran through the line of trenches, passing through by soldiers as they blazed away, some chatting nonchalantly to one another as they did. He searched for another perch that was closer to the action, and he found it. Not more than 30 yards from his starting point, Calvin was knocked to the ground by an explosion. Stunned yet uninjured, he collected himself and looked about, to see three woundeddogs around him. There came a muffled call, then, up on the works was a tall, fat, black and white cat. "This is our day!" he yelled, only to be ripped apart by bursts of fire. His body collapsed to the outside and his comrades came tromping up, over him, and into the line. Picking up his rifle, Calvin took aim as the wall came towards him, but dogs coming up from behind quickly fouled his aim, and the fight came down to a brisk hand to hand encounter. Cats threw themselves onto their opponents, lashing ut with claws and teeth as dogs swung their rifles and bit back. Wanting to join in, Calvin pushed his way through. Here and there, cats would be thrown down to the dirt floor and punched through with claws or bite hard in the neck. Shots were ringing in his hear and buzzing low over head. suddenly, an orange cat lunged at him, leaping over the works and tore Calvin down to the ground. Losing his rifle as they did so, Calvin grappled with the cat, whom slashed at him several times in his face before pinning him down to the ground. Sensing his advantage, the boy shouted, "Surrender!"

"Never!"

Angered with his response, Calvin reached for his weapon as the cat continued to nip away at his neck and face. The tips of his fingers were just touching the butt stock, gritting his teeth, Calvin reached as far as could to cover the last few inches as his adversary struggled to remove himself from underneath. Claws thrusting into his chest was enough to force Calvin to roll away, and the cat spurted out, going for his weapon, a pistol laying only a few yards away. It was a desperate struggle as the two picked up their weapons, aimed and fired at almost the same time. To his horror, the cat found that his weapon failed to discharge and Calvin's round went true through his neck. Bleeding, the cat rowled and fell. All over, fighting was breaking out into hand to hand duels in singles or in small groups as the cats began to rally and converge onto the defenses. Though not knowing it, Calvin bolted from one position to another and others followed him. Why? Because the red bandana he wrapped around his head was the only symbol visible through the intense smoke and confusion of battle. Dogs shifted to dangerous points, thwarting every effort Gold made to carry the heights.

Enraged, she ordered up her artillery. Unable to ford the swamp and lack of time to flank it, she ordered them to pump rounds into the works to assist her infantry. Snub nosed tubes sat at the base of the tree line, hub to hub and commenced firing. Rounds began splashing into the swamp or went high over head. Checking their aim, gunners began to land hit after hit, not realizing that their high explosive rounds were in fact exploding in the midst of their own soldiers. High velocity rounds kicked up mounds of dirt, sent rifles, equipment, rocks, and chunks of flesh and meat high into the air and in every other direction. Soldiers tried desperately to wave them off, to stop the slaughter. As the afternoon drew on, thirst became an enemy as well. Cats did not bring canteen and all water bladders were left on the truck. Swamp water was filthy and rich in blood and bodies.

"Damn!" one soldier cursed, pounding his fist into the rocks, "Why can't it rain!"

Gold finally began togrow antsy as Hobbes observed her. Unglued now from her seat, she began to pace around, behind her guns as they continued to pump rounds into the ridge. Her entire division had been commit into the fight, there was nothing left for her to send. A party braved the fire and brought back a wounded Zoos to report the action thus far. No good news.

Running towards a small fort, Calvin and a small, ad hoc force, found a desperate battle unfolding as members of Zoo's Brigade began to scramble up the rocky face towards a pair of howitzers that were decimating their formation with canister fire. This fort was on the far right of the line, and as Dilger watched awe struck at the utter defiance embodied by this boy whom stood on top of a dilapidated stone wall, shouted and jumped right into it, firing then swinging his rifle wildly.

"Take that! And that!"

He pushed through the crowd towards the guns. It was already set to fire, but the crews were busy fighting off infantry whom were right at the muzzles. Grasping for the rope, Calvin fumbled as a cat jumped onto him, ripping at his short blond hair. "Long live the Revolution!" it yelled as his claws tore into Calvin's scalp, "It's pointless!"

A dog swung his rifle butt, knocking this cat to the ground. Taking him back up, Calvin dealt with him by scooping the now helpless soldier and throwing him off the cliff face. Returning back to the cannon, the boy scooped up the lanyard and pulled with all of his might. It roared, the cannon recoiled, and thick white smoke shrouded the fort from view. Hazy eye sight, Calvin picked his way through the crammed interior of fort, finding other defenders, firing their weapons wildly down the slope.

"You can't see what you're shooting at, can you?" the boy asked one.

"No, but they are down there! Just shoot!" he yelled back.

With his face smeared with powder, Calvin sorted through the mess to find his weapon and some ammunition then bolted towards the next endangered position. Cannon blasts of canister, rifle shots, clubs, rocks, bare paws, and teeth were all mixed up in a killing field as the cats were still trying to gain a foot hold after thirty minutes of combat. A flag bearer from the 4th Regiment struggled through the swamp, cleared the small strip of land, then climbed up the rock face, passing by scores of slain comrades in his quest to rally his regiment to press on. He reached the works near where Calvin was situated, and proudly planted his tattered banner, only to be clubbed down and his colors were taken immediately. Similar acts of bravery were repeated all along the line on both sides. Watching this from his view, Dilger noted that the cats, despite knowing that it was hopeless, with their losses piling up and no reinforcements in sight, they continued to fight on. Their drive was spent though. Pinned down under a blistering fire, their once fleeing foe had turned against them. So brainwashed that dogs were inferior, the cats believed their lies, and now were in an impossible spot. Unable to retreat for fear of death and unable to charge, many began to think about surrender. No telling what quarter might be given to them. Still, most risked in making a run for it and did so, only to be shot down in droves.

Calvin's fort, once it was secured at last, appeared to have broken the back of Gold's drive. Once this attack was repulsed, no more charges were made. Instead, what remained of the rapidly dwindling division was pinned down at the base of ridge, under gale of lead as the dogs sensed their chance for revenge. Many a soldier stood on the rocks to fire down onto their prey, shouting "Indianapolis! Indianapolis!" Gone were the days of old of chivalry between two enemy forces, now was the time of devestation.

"That's it! I give up!" one officer yelled, raising his paws into the sky. Others began to repeat this move. Some cursed it, others obeyed, but once enough hands went into the sky, the fire began to slacken off then died out all together as the dogs accepted their surrender. White handkerchiefs were waved in supplement to those wounded. Dogs then came down to the water's edge, to find a massacre on a grand scare. Laying in heaps up to five or six deep, cats were piled up around the fat rocks, most of their weapons were soaked, ammunition useless from swamp water.

Most of the wounded wouldn't live to see the sun set however, dogs had little medical training or facilities to handle their own let alone the countless enemy wounded they faced. Even so, most were willing to help their enemy in taking them to a shaded area, dress wounds and give water, making their passing much more easier. Gold's artillery died out once the entire battle seemed over. It was pointless now, they could blow the whole place to hell, but she had no troops to take it.

Weeping into her paws, Gold exclaimed, "It's over! It's over! My division has been destroyed. Garfield will kill me. All is lost! It's over!"

Pity as it were, Calvin sensed that it was far from over. Several batteries of artillery were sitting on the opposite bank, idle and deprived of infantry support. All Gold could hope to throw against any counter attack was the remnants of regiments not even at platoon size. Her officer corps was shot to pieces. The only senior officer was Zoo's and he was wounded.

With ammunition stuffed into a discarded bag, Calvin navigated down the boulders towards the swamp as dogs began to hustle prisoners still able to walk towards the rear. Cheers and taunts rang through the valley as captured banners were waved in defiance.

"Come on! Come on!" Calvin snapped to everyone he saw in his path before running right into the water without a moment's hesitation.

"Stop them! They'll be slaughtered!" an officer ordered. To everyone's surprise, no artillery opened up on them during their arduous crossing. Gold, in her mental state, shouted orders for them to open fire, but officers refused, sighting that they had no more ammunition, which was a bold face lie.

"This is mutiny! I order you to fire on those fools!" yelling at a captain whom shrugged it off.

"I cannot," he replied, "Our caissons are empty."

Enragged to the point that blood vains were buldging on her forehead, Gold took out a pistol and prepared to do battle herself as Calvin's supposive counter attack finally reached the opposite bank having pushed aside the bodies of dead before him. Arrayed as if on parade right in front of them, was Gold's "Division. Amassed artillery to the immediate left, Gold and her staff in the center, and clustered to the right, Zoo's and his survivors. Pausing a moment, the boy made eye contact with those he was about to face. Those stealy eyes showed no fear at all as he looked down the muzzles of many guns in his face and an untold amount of infantry. All he had to attack with was perhaps a dozen or so worn out defenders. No dog had realized that Gold's entire division had been destroyed, completely.

A heavy silence hovered over the field as the two forces waited for the other to make a move. Suddenly, a cannoneer threw down his sponge staff and raised his hands. Reluctantly, others began to do so as well. Seeing them capitulate, "It's over boys," Zoos concurred to his fellow infantrymen and thus surrendered as well to Calvin.

Gold watched in horror was the remnant of her force, without so much as firing one shot, gave up, in complete defiance of her orders. Even her staff and human drivers, whom were glad, approached with their hands raised. Calvin stood with confusion as prisoners approached him. He fully expected a fight, now he was overwhelmed by the enemy whom were now his prisoners.

"Traitors! I will have you shot!" she screamed, voice becoming hoarse in the humid enviroment. The general stomped the ground like a little girl throwing a fit. "Traitors! All of you are traitors! The revolution will live on, but you have forever stained the banners of the great revolution!"

"I don't think so," Hobbes muttered before taking up a rock and smashing it onto the back of Gold's head, knocking her out instantly...


	5. Chapter 5

Cat Revolution

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield. They are owned by Bill Watterson respectfully. However, Dilger and Boxer are my creations.

The battle was won for the dogs. A great battle had been played out in the swamps that were overlooked by this rocky ridge that had no name until now. It was called Bloody Ridge and for good reason. An entire division, 24,000 individuals were slaughtered either killed, wounded, and captured. As the smoke settled, and patter of fire had long since died, what were once enemies now turned to each other. Stretcher bearers and medical teams came down to help with the immense amount of wounded and to bury the dead that bobbed about in the swamp.

Having borne a part across the swamp in the hopes of claiming artillery pieces, Calvin instead was offered the surrender of remnants of Gold's command including the general herself whom couldn't. Knocked out by traitor Hobbes, she was removed to a field station to join the rest of her command whom were fortunate enough to survive.

Calvin picked his way through the haze of battle, tripping over the many bodies from the previous fire fight, rooting out any of those whom were still putting up a struggle. A tall figure emerged through the forest, hands raised in the air.

"Halt, or you will be shot!" Calvin yelled.

"Whoa, easy there, Trigger. I'm just a humble tiger looking for his friend," came the response.

"Hobbes? Hobbes!" the boy shouted, throwing himself at his friend. After a while, the two recorded the swamp, found a fat boulder in which to sit on and began to exchange their sides of an incomplete story.

"What happened to you? Last time I saw you, cats were forcing me on the back of a truck?" Calvin asked, sitting on a flat boulder.

Taking pride in himself, "Well, I decided to go undercover as a spy and see what was happening. Using my intelligence and sneaky ways, I managed to influence my way all the way to the top where I managed to persuaded the cats into a false sense of security and thus into this trap."

"You were a spy?"

"Yes, I was"

"Terrific" becoming unraveled in his seat, "Then you can help us. Where is their base?"

"It's in Indianapolis"

"Did you see my parents?"

"I'm afraid not. Garfield has numerous camps, using the populous as labor."

"What is he doing now?"

"Looks like he's digging in. A lose would be significant, and we can deal even more if we move fast."

Their mouths fell silent as burial parties moved past with heaps of slain cats. It had been a gruesome battle, and the dogs, despite their victory, were still in no shape to move out. There were too many problems internally to deal with. If the two worked together, perhaps they could get this rag a muffins into a fighting force in just a few weeks. However, time wasn't on their side. Garfield was smart and was still gathering forces under his belt. A second division had just arrived in town, Hobbes knew about it, and quite possibly would throw that against them. Someone was needed to keep the wound he had suffered here open and bleeding, Hobbes took it upon himself as that person.

"I'm going back" he snapped to Calvin. "They don't know about me, yet. All I have to do is pass myself off as a survivor, then I can stoop around at will."

"Wait. Go back? You can't. There is much work that needs to be done. You can't take a vacation now!"

"I must. Garfield will sense something if i'm missing along with a whole division."

"He'll suspect you even more if you're the only one that returns."

"I'll take that chance" crossing his arms.

Calvin still remained uneasy. It was a perilous task. If those cats even caught a whiff of deceit, the gig would be up. Weighing the pros and cons in his mind, Calvin gave in. "Good luck, ol' buddy. You'll be promoted upon your return." Shaking hands, the tiger departed from the ridge, following the same wilderness covered road going back to Indianapolis. Watching his friend disappeared down the road, Calvin sighed, removed himself from that seat and climbed ever higher to an another boulder, sitting down on this rock next to Dilger. All about them, stretcher parties were still working double time to remove wounded and dead. It had been a hard day. A hot, hard, yet glorious day.

"Our soldiers have covered themselves in glory," Dilger said, almost to himself.

Indeed they had. Just a large hand full managed destroy an entire cat division. Including bagging over 2,500 prisoners and twenty-four pieces of artillery, seventeen colors or flags were captured as well, paraded by their captors in the faces of prisoners.

"They won't stop coming." Dilger said to Calvin, whom nodded in agreement, "We have a chance now. Either we stay and regroup or we attack."

"What does your instinct tell you, Calvin? Your animal instincts?" Dilger asked his comrade.

"What?" Garfield fumed. "How could Gold fall into a trap?"

Hobbes was lost for words, "It was a bitter battle, your excellency. Those cats, our soldiers, threw themselves against the enemy lines repeatedly, bravely, their banners were seen waving triumphantly from their walls." Glorifying the lopsided battle.

It didn't dim Garfield's feelings. He had suffered a hearty blow, a mortal one if he didn't move fast. As his new second division filed into town, taking up position around it's outskirts, a third division was being organized. Pounding his fists, a nervous aide entered the room.

"What is it?" his leader roared.

"Uh, sir, we have prisoners here that you might find interesting." his voice nearly faint with fear.

"Is it Odie?" Garfield leaned forward with a raise eyebrow.

"No, sir. We have captured two rebel cats trying to raid our supply trucks plus, Lord Devotous, leader of the California Revolution has just delievered several prisoners from Angel Grove as tokens of appreciation."

"Very well, bring them in. Excuse me, Mr. Hobbes, this is a matter of what a leader does"

Bowing away, Hobbes marched out, glacing over his shoulder to see teenagers being forced onto their knees before Garfield, along with two cats, one pink and one gray.

Aroused from his prison cell, Odie and several others were prodded out onto the main street where soldiers by the hundreds were filing past, banners flapping the breeze. It was a hot day, but still their guards pushed them on towards the outskirts where other parties are already at work digging trenches, forts, and pillboxes. Issued a small sledge hammer and told to break a rock, Odie went to work, parched of thirst and starving he did so with fatigue while up above him, standing on the thick walls of Fort No. 6 facing due south was Hobbes whom was now promoted to general supervisor of construction of Garfield's defenses. Looking all about him, Hobbes was impressed by the maze of trenches, rifle pits, abatis, nests, the whole lot. Swarming like ants, cats and prisoners alike were working together to accomplish this simple task. the fort in which he stood was only half way completed. Talking to an officer, he found out it's measurements were going to be twenty feet high, walls eight feet thick made of earth and backed by timber, covered two whole acres and shaped as a hexagon with gun ports at each angle.

Just down below, a worn Odie was issued a small sledge hammer and ordered to break a large boulder that couldn't be moved by hand. Chipping away at granite, this worn out prisoner glanced about him under a blistering sun to wipe his brow. Out of the corner of his eye, he sighted a familiar looking face descending the walls. It was Hobbes. Holding in his conjecture, feigning to attract attention, Odie slammed his hammer down, thundering an echo that called for the tiger whom turned and made eye contact. It was here that this dog came up with a novel motion to exchange information, knowing that his guards were ignorant of Morse code, but Hobbes knew some. His hands ripped and torn, Odie clutched his tool and began to tap out seemingly useless dots and dashes onto the stone face. Yet, Hobbes picked it up from across the quarry and noted it with a smile and a nod. Watching him leave, Odie sighed and relaxed only to be berated by a guard for being lax.

When darkness descended, the work, for the most part, ceased. Here, Hobbes slipped out of town to convey knows to Dilger and Calvin about the task that lay at hand. To his surprise, the tiger stumbled into their sentries just two miles from the outskirts, hiding in wood lots and in trenches of their own. Coupled with no fires and no moon, Hobbes blundered into them and was nearly shot. Managing to convince them that he was friend of Calvin and Dilger, Hobbes was taken to their head quarters, a run down old farm house. There, he found Dilger resting on a straw bed and Calvin warming himself by a small fire nearby.

Hearing the front door squeak open, Calvin turned his head and looked, "About time you showed up. What did you find out?"

"A lot," Hobbes replied. Gathering them around a small dinner table, Hobbes threw down a dirtied sheet of yellow legal paper. On it were crude drawings of the town and all of it's defenses.

"The ground was flat in it's approach towards the works, then gradually rises up till it was about thirty meters above other terrain. It's angles was not steep, allowing artillery to fire down on attackers" Hobbes explained referring to the twelve forts.

Calvin was impressed and despaired. It looked impossible to take them on, but he wasn't finished. Connecting the forts were two solid trenches, ten yards behind the other, fronted by an abatis or line of sharpened stakes. A third trench was being constructed as they spoke, a fall back position. All houses, dwellings, any obstructions on or near these lines were being cleared out. Charging them head on like what Gold did would be suicidal. All they had was a rag tag band that was slowly organizing in the rear. Competent officers were hard to come by and soldiers with spines even more so. It was an entirely new division, Garfield's 2nd defending these works. Their quality was not known but quantity, over 29,000 by early estimates, dwafed their army by over 20 fold. Newly formed, it was untried in the field of combat. Even so, it still vastly outnumbered and outgunned the dogs. Trainloads of fresh supplies and reinforcements came in daily into depots as word quickly leaked out that Gold's Division had been destroyed. A considerable loss that no one was able to capitalize on.

"We must find a way in," Dilger said, "If we don't hurry, Garfield will turn the town into a fortress. It will take over 10,000 soldiers just to take one fort. We do not have the time. Our soldiers we have now are tired and hungry. There is only enough food for a couple of days, and the water here is foul and unsavory. If we were to move to another position, we could be attacked and overwhelmed or we lose our chance right now. We must attack now."

Hearing the leaders words, Calvin and Hobbes grew even more frustration as fatique wore them down to a nub. "What if we tunnel underneath it? I mean, use the sewer networks?" Calvin asked reclining in a seat, feet elevated onto the table's surface.

"Can't Garfield sealed them all up. What isn't needed was blocked or destroyed," Hobbes interceded. "He has also given the go ahead to construct antiaircraft guns on roof tops, but none have arrived just yet. Given that, we do not have any aircraft or sorts to attempt a airborne attack."

Grim as it was, the three continued to ponder, unwilling to give up. Their minds were consolidated into one great one. Tiger had cunning, Dilger had intelligence, and Calvin had recklessness. Garfield had a weakness, just needed to find it. For a better part of the night, they threw ideas at one another, each one being shot down in rapid succession. Too costly, too dangerous, too stupid.

"Aw, hell, why don't we just blow the whole darn thing up!" Calvin spoke in frustration.

"Brilliant!" Hobbes yelled, jumping from his seat. "That's brilliant! If we blow a hole in their line, we created a breach in their defenses, then we can charge in while the enemy is stunned. Calvin, you're a genius!"

"Thank you" sounding puzzled.

Listening to the two work, Dilger felt relaxed. Everything was well in hand with those two. Judging roughly, Calvin estimated that it would take 200 pounds of explosive to create a big enough hole. When going over a list of capture enemy stores which included artillery shells, it amounted to over 1,000 pounds of gunpowder. "That will work" Calvin shrugged. When dawn broke, work was ready for the many dogs that come to fight for Dilger, Calvin, and Hobbes. Captured artillery shells were broken open, it's powder drained into a large 55 gallon barrel, the best suitable container to be had. It was tedious work. One spark could set the whole concoction off in their faces. Calvin supervised this while Hobbes had to determine on how to get this barrel into the works. Garfield was expecting a report on the situation soon, and sentries bristled the works, making infiltration difficult.

One by one, artillery shells were cut open and contents poured into the barrel as several others Jerry rigged a fuse, one that wouldn't require Hobbes to be so close for detonation. A friction primer and a 100 feet of lanyard proved to be just enough.

"When you get this inside their works, find a spot where the blast won't be wasted. Find a mine or a shaft, or even a magazine." Dilger conferred with his assassin. "We have only one shot with this and you're our only hope."

"I won't let you down"

Shaking hands, Hobbes told Calvin, "When you see my explosion, I'm going right into hiding. You find me this time."

Laughing, his friend agreed. Alone, Hobbes began to roll the drum on it's side across the earth heading north, his detonator concealed in a small satchel at his side. Whistling uneasily as he did, the tiger spied the cat works on the horizon, slightly elevated higher than where he started. Watching his progress through a set of field glasses, Calvin was already at the edge of his seat then it he fell right off of it when a figure suddenly emerged, stopping Hobbes just short of Fort No. 6. The two talked to one another for some time before, together, they rolled the keg right into the defenses.

"What's going on?" asked Calvin.

"Not sure" Dilger replied, "But he's in there. Best be ready to attack when it goes off"

"Where will you be in all this?" Calvin had to ask, walking away backwards.

"I'll be around. I can't go with you. You'll do fine, just keep you eyes open and your arse down. The cats will hear from us today"

Setting about his task, Calvin organized what officers he could to orchestrate the assault. Once Hobbes touched off the charge, the dogs would swarm into the breach it creates, flanking left and right to take forts with it's cannons, using them against the cats to further their attack. Speed was crucial. If the defenders moved fast enough, they could catch them in a cross fire and the results would be a catastrophe. Dilger also urged that they use captured artillery pieces in support with what little ammunition was left. With all that aside, the dogs prepared themselves as the day wore on and time grew short. Hobbes had been out of sight for some time now, the only way to know of his progress was to see his explosion, set to go off at precisely 10:00 a.m. Every rode on Hobbes. If nothing were to happen at 10:00 a.m then it would be assumed that Hobbes captured or killed and the attack plan thrown away and a new one written up. Praying to himself, Calvin hoped it didn't come to that.

"Easy, this oil is precious. Our men need it to cook and to heat themselves," Hobbes told a soldier as they rolled the barrel across wood bridges that spanned the network of trenches.

"Where is this going to?" the soldier asked.

"Fort Number 6"

Obliging left, there path took them right towards the back entrance where a nervous sentry stopped them. When asked what was in the barrel, Hobbes replied casually that it was heating oil. Looking over a list, the guard found that no oil was supposed to be delivered, and rejected them entry. Enraged and falling behind schedule, Hobbes had to find a new location and fast. Explosion or not, that attack would begin in forty minutes. Looking about, several workers appeared out of a hole at the main line.

"What are they building?" the tiger asked resting his arms on the barrel.

"Oh, a well. See, no water lines come out this far, so soldiers are digging wells for fresh water up here. That one is dry, so it's being filled up," the soldier said.

"Oh really? Well, since no one wants this oil we might as well throw it in as well" Hobbes stated, the barrel was of no importance if no one needed it. The soldier was rather distraught that a whole barrel of fuel was being wasted, but he was a soldier and obeyed orders. Get rid of it.

Rolling, cursing, muttering, and straining, the two forced the mine into the whole where they found it to be just big enough. Dropping it in, Hobbes slipped the fuse in unseen and let the length of rope go in his fingers.

"Very good, that will be all" Hobbes said to the soldier.

With him out of the way, Hobbes casually began to walk away as well, further into town. Clock was ticking away, the mine was ready. One simple jerk would cause the eruption. Waiting anxiously in the tree line just 500 yards away, Calvin couldn't contain himself. It would be a dream come true to see an explosion of this magnitude in real life. When the length of rope went out, Hobbes found a shallow dip in a field where he went prone. Unconcerned guards and prisoners went about, walking past the shaft as Hobbes swallowed hard, placed his face into the earth and jerked the rope.

As a result, a slow rumble shook the earth. Everyone for a mile felt it, then the ground around the shaft suddenly ripped away and threw itself into the air. Tools, dirt, and helpless bodies went one hundred feet into the air and began to rain. Neighboring forts were being bombarded with nails and rifles. When the cloud cleared, a thirty foot by thirty foot crater remained. No one directly in the blast survived, and those in the forts were completely stunned. Some remember it for it's ear shattering roar, others for it's shock wave, whatever the case, the results were rather disappointing to Calvin, whom never had the chance to see an entire fort blown to Kingdom Come.

Taking the lead, Calvin yelled to all those in ear shot, "Now is our chance! For Glory or death! Charge!" Before he could complete his pep talk, dogs broke out in a cheer and surged forward in a wave, rushing up the slope towards the enemy works. The crater did it job all too well, a gap was created in abatis over 30 yards across, and the defenders were too stunned to even reply back, some even ran. adding his two cents into battle, Dilger, having already arranged captured artillery and presighted them, let loose with a support barrage aimed at raking the parapets, sweeping away defenders whom dared to stand up with solid shot and shell.

Overhead, dark clouds formed. Starting out as a trickle, a rain soon turned into a down pour rapidly filling up the crater and other trenches. Occasional thunderclaps illuminated hundreds of figures surging towards the crater. Starting out in the lead, Calvin was soon passed by his soldiers, cheering, chanting, waving and firing their weapons all on run. Yelling in response, he cursed them for wasting ammunition.

"Save it when you have targets!" he yelled. Pushed and shoved all the way, the first individuals pushed through the wreckage of the abatis and paused at the very rim of the crater...


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield. They are owned by Bill Watterson respectfully. However, Dilger and Boxer are my creations.

Battle of the Crater was a savage battle taken place in Petersburg Virginia in the ungodly summer heat of July 30, 1864, during the Civil War. Now, it's sequel was being played out into a cleared field in the heart of Indiana, where the carnage was no less.

In his throne room far removed from the battle, their leader, Garfield, was playing host to his generals whom dined on fine food and milk as the roar of cannons thundered in the very distance. Remenicant to just hours before, before Hobbes ignited his charge, to a proclimation that Garfield had personally dictated to Mr. President of the United States. In it, he personal proclaimed himself as emperor, a status that wasn't offical or even voted on. Included as a term that stipulated that all humans must submit to his rule as similar uprisings were happening in all states and even countries. In order to be emporer, Garfield must look like one. A fine red velvet robe with white trim drapped along his back and dragged for several feet. Already being made was a special golden crown, pitted with large diamonds and emralds was also made to fit his enormous head.

As they laughed and joked, a sudden rattle came from a door and in stepped a nervous aide into the great dining room.

"Ah yes, come, come, my boy what news do you have for me? Is that Mr. Hobbes report? I have been waiting to hear from him all day," Garfield laughed.

Reading from a piece of crumbled paper, the advisor read: "Sir, we have captured several more valuable prisoners from California. They are highly valued for their national attention in the media." Here he hesitated. Egged on by his superiors, he read on, "The president has also returned a reply to your demand."

"Very well, what did he say?" calmly.

"Uh, in clean words..."not on your life."

Irritated, the leader ordered this aide to take now a response. "I have hostages, valuable ones. Tell the president that if he does not reply with more enlighten terms in the next ten hours, I will publicly execute one hostage every hour on the hour till he does," his words were heavy and heard by all those in the room, including the gaggle of prisoners whom were helpless to resist wondering what kind of execution would be for them if the president refused his demands. Rising from his throne, even with the battle ragging outside, Garfield ascended down to speak with his prisoners. Some were human, some were cat, his own kind. With grace, he stride to the long row, starting off at one end, working his way down.

"What is your name?" he asked a man with large whiskers and a bald head.

"Jaime" he replied in a monotone voice.

"Ah yes, you were part of that television show. Am I correct?"

"Yes"

"Good, very good" at his elbow was a scrawny looking man with an orange goatee and black framed glasses.

"Who are you?" the leader asked.

"Adam" snarling back.

"Oh, feisty animal are we? Well, we have ways of calming you down" motioning to a pair of guards that carted him away to parts unknown.

"No! Leave him alone!" a girl cried down the ranks, catching the leader's eye. As Adam was being dragged away, kicking and yelling, Garfield approached a petite looking girl with fiery red hair and perky cheeks.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Kari" she spat, "Leave him alone!"

"Oh? Are you the leader of the revolution? I don't think so. I am Garfield, the great one." extending his arm, a finger touched Kari's chin, lifting it up slightly so that her eyes looked into his, "You will join other prisoners I have. Including some from California like yourself. If you are really good little prisoners, I will make your deaths quick and painless if your president fails to comply. And as for you my little Kari, will be my guest to watch as your friends are put to the sword before being the very last." as his words sent tears streaming down Kari's perky cheeks, Calvin was fighting for his own survival in the crater.

His attack was bogging down like the down pour on his head. Everything was slippery to the touch, roads were quagmires and shell holes were now pools with bodies floating in them. Whatever happened to that thought of a clean, bloodless revolution? In scaling the walls of the crater, the dogs discovered to their horror that it was next to impossible under heavy fire from those cannons in the forts to their right and left, now another problem. When the barrel was detonated, it scattered several units. An officer attempted to rally those remnants with a cry, "Rally you soldiers! Fight like cats not run like dogs!" His words assembled him less than two hundred stalwarts and they charged across a vacant lot directly in front of the crater. Though halted short of their objective by intense rifle fire, they found cover in a half completed trench and began to deal back punishment, throwing grenades into the darkness, using the shrills and cries of wounded to aim. Those able or smart enough to go around the rim of this crater were taken in a cross fire from three sides and began to crawl into the only protection possible, the crater itself, it was so cramped inside, that if one was hit, he couldn't even fall down. As the first wave became pinned down, more and more troops were being fed into it, pushing wounded down into the bottom, weighed down by more and more. More and more cats were being rallied by the minute, joining into the fight as the last dogs were committed by Dilger, unknown to him that nothing was being gained. All he saw were the lights and as long as they kept going, then someone was still alive in that mess. Somewhere in that tangled mess was Calvin, trying to keep a sense of order as the dogs all about him were fighting and dying. It had been only twenty odd minutes since that start of the attack, and the shock of it had worn off, now enemy reinforcements were being funneled into the fight. They must get out of this trap and now. Crawling on his hands and knees to gain enough traction, Calvin managed to scaled the wall of the crater, passing by prone soldiers, some firing, others wounded, some dead. At the very rim, a blast of cannon blew away a large chunk of earth. Ducking down then reappearing soon after, Calvin got his first eyeful of the fort he so desperately wanted to witness blown up. It was big, dwarfing his already minor skeleton. Bristling with cannon on all sides, firing down on him with soldiers adding to that power with small arms. With bullets whizzing all about, the boy forced his way upwards, stepping onto the level earth. Lacking a sword or any other weapon, he turned to look back at these soldiers, yelling at the top of his fatigued lungs, "Come one! Get up! Get up and fight!". Turning, he took several steps then fell on his knees. Wasn't hit just slipped and it was impossible to get back up again, so onward he went, on his hands and knees, inching his way towards that wall when a hand was offered to him.

"An officer doesn't crawl" the soldier said.

Taking it, the two began their assent, chiseling out foot holds with their bare hands into the hard clay. Inspired by his bravery and recklessness, soldiers began to rise up, leaving their semi safety and charging right for the forts, defying their fire as they began to scale it's walls. Blinded by their own fire, defenders didn't realize this until a deafening roar and their foe came face to face. Defenders attempted to stand on the ramparts and fire down onto them were quickly shot down as the dogs finally leaped over into it's interiors. Blasts of canister and shell continued to pester them, but one by one, the guns fell silent in rapid succession as the defenders, confused and leaderless, especially in Fort No 5, when it's commander, Colonel Condite fled, began to flee or surrender. As for that half completed trench, they to were hit when squadrons of dogs, with rifles blazing, charged them head on. Cats rose up to fire, only to have their chests ripped open by edged weapons. Then, somewhere in the mix, a grenade, either on accident or intentional, was armed and dropped and it detonated, spewing shrapnel in every direction, scything down both sides. Broken and defeated, cats began to give ground, some still fighting as they did, facing their enemy, fearful of taking a bullet in the back. As the fighting in Fort No. 6 was at it's peak, Calvin was swept up in this mortal combat. Standing on the ramparts as others rushed past, he looked down to see hundreds of what appeared to be ants swarming about his feet. Two charged him with fixed bayonets. Just a moment before their blades touched him, two soldiers came up from behind and shot them down. A close shave.

One them pushed Calvin out of the way, telling him to "move or be damned."

Regaining his composure, the boy spied an abandoned gun and rushed for it. Finding it still loaded, he beconded two soldiers as the gain the parapet to assist in turning it around. With rounds pinging off the iron tube, this three succeeded in their task, and took careful aim at one of the many hutsthe fort's interior that were the garrison's housing. Snipers were in there, pecking away at their attackers. Stout wood and mud walls were stalwart to bullets, something heavy was needed to blast them out. Depressing it's muzzle and aiming carefully, using the many muzzle flashes as a guide, Calvin got his fix and fired, blowing an entire shack away like a broom sweeping up dust.

"I always wanted to do that!" he laughed.

Just then, a bullet struck on his companions, and he went down, dead. Stunned, he stood there, looking at this body. Other soldiers didn't pause though, seizing other cannons and turning them on their former owners. Great swaths and holes were opened on the walls as the garrison turned tail and spilled out over the other side, running across towards Fort No. 4 or taking their chances in crossing the vacant lot towards the suburbs. After just minutes in storming these great walls, Fort No. 6 was captured, it's banner, a giant green emerald flag with a large pan of lasagna in it's center, was taken down and found to be riddled with shrapnel and scared by bullets. In it's place, the dogs ran up a smaller plain black flag that was harder to make out in he twilight. Still, powerful blasts of cannon still electrified the night with thunderclaps as the two forces went at one another still. When powder went damp, and bullets exhausted, they went back to flinging mud and rock, and claws and teeth. Numbers were not enough to even stem the furious assault. Gradually, the cats began to give way. Neighboring forts could not be counted on for support due to the weather and incoherentness between units. They had no knowledge that Forts 5 and 6 were now in enemy hands  
and when shells began to crash against their walls, officers became adamant that a training exercise was being bundled.

Only thing bundled was the defense. Colonel Condite, a pure black domestic short tail whom blended in perfectly with his current surroundings used that to his advantage, lurking back towards the great many buildings of the suburbs to gather what was left of his garrison and others. Fugitives, routed individuals streamed through and around them, defying curses and oaths, and bayonets to rally and join them. Their great division was falling apart after less than an hour of combat. Since is was useless to stop them, and further a hazard to stay in the open, still far removed from his goal, Condite ordered his soldiers off the only serviceable road and into a half filled irrigation ditch to wait out the storm as spent bullets hissed past. Even this far removed from combat, they were not safe. Some of his companions wished to fight, to flee, or surrender. Being the ranking officer, Condite had to choose. Before he could though, the sound of approaching footsteps alarmed them.

Was it another enemy formation? Unable to tell, Condite crawled out to meet them. Inching towards the road, he was trampled by routed soldiers whom were being  
shoved right back off by this formation. A thunderclap illuminated the field, showing their true identity, they were cats. Reinforcements have finally arrived, dispatched personally by Garfield to "investigate that awful noise."

They were cats being led by another colonel, singled out by wearing a hilarious folded newspaper hat which had turned soggy in the rain. Either he was off his rocker or just amusing, he still led from the front when Condite sprung from his hole to confront him, "What unit is this?" he asked, picking himself up from the muck. Soldiers in formation stared for they were spit and polish head to toe and this officer was muck and mud.

"The Black Cat Brigade, sir" came the response.

"Good, get in there, now!" he roared back, pointing towards the crater where hundreds of firefly lights showed that the contest was still happening.

"Sir, they are our last reserves!" the colonel responded, lament to do so,

"Our orders were to investigate what was happening..." stammering on.

"Send them in!" Condite roared.

Beaten down, the colonel switched his formation into a battle line on the road with two battalions on the East side and two on the West. At 2,000 strong, the Black Cat Brigade was thought to be the strongest unit in the whole Cat Rebel Army, trained and conditioned under Garfield's expression, they were, for a time, trained by his personal body guard in brutal tactics of interrogation and punishment. Stretched then to net fugitives, the line was a quarter of a mile long. It took precious minutes to get them into line and by then, routed soldiers constantly broke them up instead of going around.

"Move or you will be shot!" officers threatened.

Still, Condite couldn't understand why this brigade didn't go in. Answer was simple, the colonel was confused. He was spell bound by all the lights and could differentiate friend from foe. Hundreds of figures were jumping, running, and walking here and there, within easy rifle range. When that died away for a moment, several sillouhettes appeared much closer to his front. Alarmed, the commanding officer stepped forward with his aide, "Who goes there?" he asked.

His response was a series of rounds that went harmlessly overhead. Even so, the officer scurried for cover in the ditch as his unit loaded, aimed, and fired it's first volley, spraying a thick fog the enveloped the field briefly. When it dissipated moments later, not a single figure was to be had in the rain. Satisfied that they had dealt a crippling blow, the cats prepared to launch their delayed counter attack, only to hear a loud roar then see dogs spring up from behind a rise and come right for them, Calvin in the very lead waving a beanie over his head, face smeared with gunpowder, shouting at the top of his lungs. Hurriedly reloading their pieces, the cats began to grow antsy as their foe just kept coming closer the closer. "The very ground shook under their beating paws" one soldier noted. They were only able to get off one more fruitless volley before their antagonists were on top of them, striking with a loud crash like a thousand falling timbers. Knots of contestants broke away  
from formations, beginning to tango in the muddy field in a feeding frenzy that last but moments, yet seemed like eternity. Calvin literally collided with one soldier and pinned him to the ground, only to have a slab of mud slapped in his face. Rearing back, the cat escaped. Angered, Calvin picked up a discarded rifle and sought new prey as the Black Cats began to break up and fall back towards the clusters of outhouses and buildings of the suburbs.

With victory in his grasp, Calvin cheered his force on, "Let's go at it! Get them! Kill them!" and they were, in droves. Prisoners were also taken, but it was rare. Little quarter was asked or recieved. As dogs pushed further and further inward, deeper into Garfield's defensive perimeter, resistance crumbled as cats fled through alleyways and through the very streets until officers,even some fromGarfield's staff ultimately saved the day in forming nets of shoulder to shoulder guards. When fright subsided, cats began to fight back usingstout brick, multistory buildings, succeeding containing this break through as Calvin urged on his fatigued soldiers.

"They are broken and running!" he yelled, "They will keep running if we press them." But, it was hopless. Every thing was against them. Too exhausted to go on, unwilling to go back, soldiers began to dig in right where they were, some had the benefit to find abandoned dwellings to wait out till morning while most had to linger in the trenches and forts with very little to eat and mounds of dead cluttering them, and wounded howling in their ears.

Naive Garfield had no knowledge on the outcome of this battle. Staff officers were absent yet he had no control over what to do. Messengers bearing bad news never reached him, or any news for that matter.In fact, the Leader, though knowing of a conflict, did little to actually lead, just dispatching one brigade to investigate. Staff members went out on their own accord to see for themselves, that was it. From then on, he sat on a beach chair, watching the lights dance around in the distance. Sitting at his side, under guard, was his prisoner, Kari.

"My will is strong, but we our stronger!" he smiled at her, "Now my little Kari, all you have to do is simply bow to me and you will no longer be confined to chains."

"Never"

"Oh, believe me. I have ways of making you change your mind." He smiled, touching her thigh.

Returning to a now extinct fight, Hobbes's head appeared from his safe haven. He hadn't moved an inch since this all began, yet, around him were several impact marks from bullets. It was pitch dark, and figures were moving about all around him. Now would be a chance to rejoin the dogs, his mind was full of valuable intelligence on defenses, and yet, he froze. He couldn't go back. Those dogs were pumped, shooting or killing anything that resembled a cat. Drawn by will and duty, Hobbes decided to wait it out elsewhere, find a place to hunker down till the heat died off, then try and rejoin Calvin or Dilger later.

"See you later, ol' buddy" he mumbled to himself, climbing out of his hole, disappearing into the darkness...


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Calvin and Hobbes, Garfield or anything else except for Dilger. He is my creation. Everything else is owned by Bill Watterson, Jim Davis, and Discovery Channel respectfully.

Calvin's attack through Hobbes's crater had punched deeply into Garfield's defenses. Hundreds of his soldiers were killed or missing up to this point in time. His entire 2nd Division was utterly broken and sent reeling back towards downtown Indianapolis after a most gruesome fight. Even his Black Cat Brigade was routed, joining in a mass of once soldiers now fleeing for their very lives through streets and alley ways. Officers imposed some sense of order by rallying some of these broken ranks into a thin line that contained Calvin's breakthrough for remainder of this night which past uneasily.

Finding a small, abandoned, shack near his lines, Calvin sank into a deep sleep, face smeared with powder, caked in mud, feet weighed down by such and hands raw by handling weapons. Outside came howls of wounded both friend and foe alike. Stretcher bearers were working over time in removing such bodies from that crater. An entire carpet had been made lining it from crest to trough. Appalling as it was, cats seemed to have taken worse of it. Still, Garfield wasn't out just yet. Much more heavy fighting lay ahead as dawn broke over this capital.

As soon as those rays of warmth touched earth, shooting erupted all around as squads of soldiers, volunteers, and militia began to find one another. Despite his effort to maintain a sense of order, to have distinguishable lines, Calvin awoke to find it broken, small groups of rag tags now moving, at will, through Indianapolis's streets. Dilger had established his head quarters inside remnants of Fort No. 6, having it's large guns turned about to use against their former owners. Before settling down that night, Dilger sent out a message promising to lend artillery support for tomorrows operation. However, that plan was thrown out when fighting broke out. Groups were running amuck, some in confiscated cars in a comical display of cops and robbers. Rousing up from his sleep, Calvin, half starved and parched of thirst, moved out of his shack in search of something to eat. Bakeries, shops, drug stores, were all ransacked, contents destroyed, spilled, or taken. There was nothing to stave off his hunger. His lips were licked by his dry tongue looking at mounds of candy, chocolate and hard, sitting in filth and muck, never to be devoured.

Far removed from him, Garfield now finally came to grasp what had transpired that night. As his nemesis sulked about in search of food, Garfield was in search of an escape. As his second division melted away like ice in summer, he sought to salvage what he could. Hundreds of wounded were sitting in wait at train depots to be seen back to Muncie for medical treatment. Mixed in with them were sulkers, cowards, faking illness and wounds to avoid fighting. As comrades fought just yards away, giving ground to their adversary, no hope of a victory seemed realized.

"All was lost" said one soldier.

Having spent a night lurking in alley ways, avoid patrols and fire fights, Hobbes, eyes wearing bags from deprived sleep, entered Garfield's makeshift head quarters at Indianapolis's outskirts, near Calvin old home. Everything was in shambles. Orderlies were moving to and fro carrying messages from field commanders. All of which were piling up on Garfield's desk. Once great leader was suffering from a severe migraine, refused to answer one of them. His eyes were blood shot, complexion pale, frame weak. Recognizing Hobbes standing before him, Garfield summoned up his composure to try and hold some shred of royalty.

"Mr. Hobbes. We have a bit of a situation here." sitting perfectly erect in a flimsy metal collapsible chair, far removed from his gold throne of old, his statue like body, overlooking a pale sheet of paper marked with colored pencils of where his troops were. It was poor by comparison and far from accurate.

"So it seems" he growled in response.

"I have many wounded that need to be evacuated back to Muncie. See to it that it's done. Several locomotives are coming with reinforcements. Once they are empty, board them then see yourself out as well."

Turning away, Hobbes left head quarters without saying another word to anyone. "Here we go again" he thought quietly, strolling through mayhem at a grand level. As far as his keen eyes could see, there was battle or consequences of it. Sad state their revolution was. It seems that just a few weeks ago, there was peace on earth, a heavenly balance of humanity and order between pets and humans. Now, Garfield had shredded that balance by proclaiming himself emperor over a revolution he conjured up. What sparked this was a mystery to this tiger as he entered Indianapolis's train yard. Stack almost like cordwood were wounded. No guards, just a few workers, some human, and nurses trying to care for them. No trains had yet arrived. Grim as it was, it was getting worse as dogs began to encroach closer and closer, even a few stray artillery rounds impacted nearby, startling an already shaky group.

"Well, Hobbes" he thought standing on a loading dock, waiting for his promised trains, "How are you going to get out of this one?"

Kari was wondering those sentiments as well, as she and members of her party were abruptly taken from their cells. To where was unknown. Perhaps Garfield planned to move them out as well, depriving dogs of valuable intelligence or moral boosting, or something far sinister. Ever since turning down their leader's attempts to win her over, Kari was forced to listen as her friends were tortured. Deprived of sleep, food, and water, they were now forced to march under an ungodly hot sun on a dusty trail as sounds of battle resonated behind them. It was of some comfort to them knowing that someone was out searching for them, but up to this point in time, their minds were in shambles. Cats, once pets, were now bearing weapons and knew how to use them.

Hobbes had no schedule in moving prisoners, all he cared for was his wounded, and now his trains were running half an hour late, sun was now settling. It still didn't put a damper on anything. Moving from street to street, dogs bagged groups of prisoners or individuals cut off from their units. Resistance was ultimately weak or nonexistent. Where was this promised fight they wanted?

Some revolution this turned out to be. Many thought that it would all be over in a matter of hours or just days if this progressed kept up. Calvin hoped so as well. They destroyed his home, his parents were missing, his friend was as well. Everything in his life was destroyed, all he had was a one inkling of a hope that his friend, Hobbes, was still alive and true.

As he moved with his soldiers past smoldering ruins of homes and cars, Calvin finally came across his old elementary school. To his dismay, it was still intact.

"Why god!" he began to scream on his hands and knees, "Why? Of all this war and shooting you spared this prison! Why?"

Aside from outbursts of profanity and obscene gestures, Calvin managed to hold together his sanity as his followers moved further and further into it's suburbs. To his surprise, not a single shot was thrown against him. It was a cake walk. Speaking of cake, as night settled, several large caches of food were liberated intent on feeding Garfield's soldiers. Instead, it went right back to feeding his nemesis. Night fall put an end to any more fighting. By then, virtually all of Indianapolis was back in dog hands. Garfield's bold plan of forts and defenses had bought him less than a day and cost him an entire division, most of whom were captured or surrendered. Worn down and having no enemy to fight, Calvin decided it was best to settle down tonight, let his followers dig in and eat a good meal. Soft, moist cake and milk was a fine meal indeed, just wish he could share it with Hobbes whom was still waiting for Garfield's promised reinforcements. By now, his train yard was overloaded with wounded and refugees seeking asylum. Snipers were now at work picking off medics and wounded as well despite many attempts to wave red cross flags.

When this day was finally over, Hobbes was sinking into a great fit of despair. Why did he chose to do this? He meant go from line to line. It was dangerous work. One slip up and he could find himself with a noose around his neck. A pillar of white smoke signaled an untimely arrival of Garfield's promised reinforcements. Shackled to each flat bed was not soldiers, but vehicles, strange ones. Watching them as they passed, Hobbes was mystified. What were they? Before he could question a conductor or teamster, they were roaring off by an ingenious method of unloading. Between each space of car was a large slab of metal that made it continuous until it's very end where a ramp allowed them to come off. This simple device Hobbes more time to begin loaded his wounded yet he couldn't shake a sense of fear in him. Those were armored vehicles now bearing towards his friend. They didn't stand a chance.

It was dark, Garfield didn't want to risk a night action for fear of confusion. ""My officers couldn't find their way to a kitchen with a map" he argued. So instead, he moved his armored force forward then waited until day light to catch them off guard. As luck would have it, he moved them to a ridge line, a unnamed ridge overlooking Indianapolis. While they moved, on it's opposite side was Calvin himself and his following in their dugouts, unable to hear their loud engines or clank of treads due to an acustic blackout, a strange phenomina where sound is deflected.

As he ate away on his rations, sitting in a newly dug hole of his own, Calvin basked in fruit when someone tapped his head. Looking up, it was Dilger, full of smiles. He sat next to Calvin whom sighed, face blank, looking at this ridge before him, oblivious of what was behind it.

"I can't believe that fat tabby. He practically handed back this town." Calvin shrugged.

"Exactly. Once we punched through those forts, we just rolled right over him. Cats ran away towards Muncie." Dilger concurred.

Both officers sat in relative silence. A major, long drawn slug fest that they feared would destroy their army never materialized. Now left in possession of this town, Indiana's capital, both wondered what should be done next. Their dogs were bone tired, hungry, and there were many wounded and dead that needed to be tended to. However, Garfield again was severely beaten. His forces were pushed out and were vulnerable to attack. If they strike now, before having a chance to sink into Muncie, this war could be over soon.

"I don't think patrols will be necessary tonight" Calvin stated, "We are all bone tired and our enemy is long gone."

Dilger wasn't so optimistic about all this, something had to be up Garfield's sleeve. "I think we should be cautious. Perhaps we should move back in town and wait for reinforcements. Calvin merely shrugged off his proposal.

"What if they come at us with tanks?" Dilger asked.

Calvin couldn't contain himself, "Tanks? Can you imagine cats driving tanks? They would need crates to sit on just to work it's steering wheel!" he began to demonstrate between outbursts of high, hyena like, laughs. That didn't help Dilger's predicament. He ventured into Fort No. 2 to see it's artillery compliment. I didn't have any. No ramparts were constructed yet. So he went to Number 3 just south of this one. It to was deprived of artillery. He settled down to a fitful sleep inside Fort No. 3, waiting for that one last hand to be dealt. "It will be a god awful mess tomorrow"

Time passed rather slowly this night. Hobbes was up till 3 as all his wounded were at last evacuated. When it was time to leave himself, he paused, thinking, should he go or not. As his train began to pull away, a yard worker yelled out, "You coming or what?"

"I guess so" he muttered, jumping up onto a flat bed. He sat down, feet dangling off it's edge as it began to depart. In no time, his home town began to shrink away. "So long, ol' buddy" he muttered again, this time he was sure he wouldn't see him again.

Encompassed by blackness, Calvin could feel his sore muscles stiffen up. Should've stretched them out before calming down. Cold air combined with a slight wind were not too bothersome for him. To combat it, he sank deeper into his hole until only his spikey yellow hair could be seen above it's rim. Sigh, comfortable at last. In what seemed like only moments was in fact hours, when a shrill cry rang in his ears:

"Get up! Everyone up. Holy underwear! Look at them!" someone began screaming, arousing Calvin from his heavy sleep. What was happening. Looking up, at that ridge line, his eyes filled with terror, lined up hub to hub were five hundred Kitty tanks. They were rather odd looking vehicles, mounting a light 37 mm main gun and a .30 caliber machine gun, it's configuration, shape, was that of a tennis shoe. It's commander's copula was established it it's rear along with that main gun. It's driver sat up front, along side a machine gun for protection. Calvin had no other information about these vehicles, statistics, armor, or anything else of much use, especially on how to defeat such a thing. As they sat, these two forces stared hard at one another. On a slightly higher elevation, cats could see all those dogs as they moved through their trenches. Having nothing to challenge such a force, dog moral began to crack before anything could happen. Several dogs retreated to a supply dump, where earlier they had discovered food, this time they went in search of weapons. Crates were stacked several high, each one labeled in Russian. Defying their confusion, they began to systematically rip each one open till they found their quarry.

"Eureka!" one shouted, pulling out RPG launchers. In another crate were warheads, untouched, begging to be fired.

When this squad had returned, a large red flare suddenly shot up skywards from Garfield's side. In an instant, a massive volley of cannon fire ripped up earth all around them. Explosions caused massive confusion as recruits began to break under strain. It was useless to stay in a place such as this. Instincts were kicking in. Fight or flight? This case, flight. Running out of their works, dogs and many of their new allies began to take to their heels in running back into town, seeking asylum in churches or homes better cover or to just hide. Angered and flustered, sergeants and officers threatened to shoot them if they didn't return. Few did. A sergeant threw a launcher into Calvin's hole along with a few warheads.

"Do you know how to use this?" he asked.

Looking down at his feet, Calvin looked up and smiled, "Sure do. Mom did not get me one for Christmas."

By now, Kitty tanks have dealt a second volley that ripped apart half empty trenches and dugouts, now they began their advance, rolling slowly down hill, their weapons blazing away as they went. Ducking in his dug out, Calvin set aside his RPG, removed a warhead from it's protected sheath and began a trail and error loading process as his foe began to grow closer and closer. When it was finally ready, he shouldered it, aimed down a large sight, picked out a close target, not more than 50 meters away, and fired.

Kawoosh!

It roared out, soared low and impacted short of it's target. Damn. Suddenly that tank turned it's sole intention right on Calvin. A shot was fired. He ducked, it went high over head. Phew. Reloading again, Calvin peered out to see his target had now moved a tad closer and was approaching a slight rise. When it reached, his vulnerable under belly was exposed. Now. Lifting himself and his launcher, he took square aim and fired.

Kawoosh!

This time, it went straight and true, impacting with solid armor and destroying it. Brewing up, flames began to belch out from hatches, far too quickly for anyone to get out in time as ammunition began to cook off in a spectacular fireworks display. One down, so many more to go. Reloading as fast as he could, Calvin sought to pick off those close to him. To his right, a large force was inching closer to his works, weapons blazing away and return fire was slacking off. He took aim and fired, a second tank was hit and began to burn intensely. Two tanks now burned just short of his hole, Calvin looked out see that most of his force had pulled back towards town, leaving him and a puny band to fend for themselves.

"What do we do?"

"Out here it's kill or be killed. There is no Geneva Convention protecting you. How you die is how you will be remembered" those words resonated throughout. Looking at themselves then at one another, each one searched deep for that instinct, that bravery, very same that Calvin had. Once I was found, it was fertilized to grow. Nodding in agreement, they began to follow Calvin's lead back towards town.

Sounds of battle were pattering all around as they began to navigate a maze of houses, first single story then gradually grew taller than trees as they progressed further into down town. No sign of other dogs, cats, or even signs of battle. Sounds continued, but at a distance so they went after it. As he led this band, Calvin began to wonder about Hobbes. Where was he? Where does he go? Every time a battle comes up, he tends to go towards those cats. Was he a spy or just a double agent? Knew this tiger for a long time and loyalty was written all over, still, there was a linger of doubt hanging over him. Another question was prisoners. Garfield must have taken prisoners in this war. Where was he hiding them? Knowing this fat cat, he just might use them as shields or as bargaining chips to bid off his head.

As this band of dogs were moving south west, a group of cats were moving east, away from battle. These were guards pushing one group of those prisoners. A hot, blistering sun bearing down on them, parched of thirst, and bearing an arm belonging to Adam, Kari followed along with others as high tempered guards prodded their weak bodies further down a winding dirt trail. Promised that they were being led to a place of safety, they didn't feel steady as they realized that they were being led into a forested area, far away from any avenue of traffic.

Kawooosh!

Kawooosh!

Sound of their muzzle loader bullets shooting out through hot air then a sickening thud is heard a half second later as it found it's target and drilled into their bodies, soft lead easily becoming warped, pancake in shape and snapping bone, tearing muscle, and severing arteries. Petite size didn't give cats much advantage. Once shooting started, prisoners began to scatter as their guards either ran or jumped into a half filled irrigation ditch to fight. Three were already cut down, bleeding profusely from ghastly wounds. A sharp fire fight erupted as cats became pinned down. Calvin split his team into two, with four moving his left as he laid down a hot fire. Under this plan, they managed to crawl through a naked field and suffer not an injury. When within twenty yards of those guards, still confined in that irrigation ditch, dogs sprang up and rushed them, letting out a loud howl and firing their weapons at a dead run. Unnerved, leaderless, having no potential, cats fled for their lives, leaving prisoners to fend for themselves. Before Calvin or his dogs could even cross blades with them, they were gone and in their wake was a dozen petrified human prisoners cowering in some tall grass. It took awhile for them to realize that they were finally free.

"It's not over" Calvin said to them. "You'll be safe for now, but we must move on" after searching and not being able to find his parents among them.

His search for battle led him all down winding streets, vacant of presence, yet traces of battle remained. A few tanks lay smouldering, a few bodies strewn here and there, signs of a struggle. Crude barricades marked where groups of soldiers made a stand for a time before falling back or were destroyed.

Those with him grew desponded, there were hundreds of those tanks now running loose, how could they handle them all. Where was Dilger? Where was Hobbes. Calvin didn't know. All he knew was his enemy was nearby, he could sense it, and it must be destroyed. Two blocks south of his old school, there was suppose to be a public part about five square acres big and fenced by large oak trees about fifty years old. As his team moved forward, a sniper took aim at them from a window. First shot went overhead, yet caused them to scatter and take cover. From a well concealed perch, a sniper could have laid waste to Calvin's party had not one soldier, a beagle named Howard suddenly rushed, yelping and screaming, flailing his arms. That sniper took aim, and put a bullet through Howard's head, yet he exposed his perch, an attic window. Jumping out, Calvin took aim with his launcher, fired, and killed him.

When cleared, several dogs came out of hiding. A few were from Calvin's force, others were new volunteers. They informed this human that they had managed to surround a vast number of cats. They were stuck inside that public park, with almost no natural cover what so ever. It sounded too good to be true. However, snipers had also infiltrated nearby structures and were wreacking havoc, picking off leaders, even medicals teams trying to attend wounded. There were two tanks, but they were taken out with home made grenades, now they were burning outside. Listening to this information, Calvin sought about a plan on how to deal with them. Dogs listened intently on what he had to say, as if he were a real general instead of a six year old boy. Kicking out a clearing on dirt, he began to draw out his plan. With this force now contained, he would sent out two parties to flush out snipers while a large force with heavy weapons began to lay down suppressing fire on those trapped while a second force attempted to hit it's rear. It was a sound plan with one flaw, there were no heavy weapons on hand save some new RPGs and home made grenades.

"Go with what you got!" Calvin ordered. Everyone roared in agreement.

His foe, later discovered, had heavy weapons. AK-47s, rocket launchers, machine guns, but were badly coordinated. Several more tanks were nearby and closing in, so if he wanted to attack, it must be now. Orders went up and now, shaking everything up. Dogs obeyed without question to a general, a new general, a boy. Parties were formed and went to work in flushing out troublesome snipers, it was a messy business, as two large companies were being formed. One was Calvin's suppressing force equipped with any suitable weapon there was. His second was his strike force, swift, light, and deadly.

Their prey were situated on terrain slightly elevated above it's nearby surroundings, allowing dogs to move around unnoticed.

"What idiot led them there?" Calvin asked as he commenced crawling around on his belly, getting behind his prey.

Not to his surprise, those cats were virtually clueless, waiting anxiously as tank shots echoed far away. When everything seemed to be in position after an hour of slow movements and little action, Calvin lifted his head till his eyes could see enemy parapets. There they were. Digging around monkey bars, and a play house. Rather pathetic attempts of making forts. Hunkering down again, Calvin passed up his weapon to another soldier and took his weapon, a pistol and began to issue orders.

"When I go, I want you to fire at that play house." he told his gunner whom nodded affirmatively, "Then I want everyone else to get up and charge forward and fire as you go. Don't stop. Whatever happens, don't stop" he made sure that they all understood. "If we freeze, we die"

Everything was finally ready. Looking up once again, he counted several dozen heads, and their buddies far away were coming closer. Waving his arm to a signal relay, Calvin gave his order to commence firing. All at once tracer rounds and explosions began to rip up earth. Cats bean to dive for cover, whining and screaming, praying.

"Now!" Calvin yelled. His gunner rose up, took aim, and fired. His round ripped apart it's target, toppling once cat from it, and parts of others. Now ready, he struggled up, fell for a moment, cursed, then tried again. This was it. Charge. Dashing forward, mouth open, but it was dry, and no words came out. His stride was quick as he approached his goal. Those walls were soft, he clawed up on his hands and knees. Finally mounting this parapet, Calvin glanced back quickly to see whom had followed him through. Few seldom came up. Looking forward once again, he was stunned to see himself amerced in a sea of enemy soldiers of all sorts. No longer were they cats, but hamsters, rats, mice, animals of all sorts fighting for Garfield either by conscription or volunteer. Seeing this tall being standing proudly over their works, all soldiers suddenly concentrated on him, Calvin. Gritting his teeth, he plunged forth into the very depths of this mass, brandishing his pistol, promptly emptying it before turning it about, grasping it's hot barrel, and using it's firm handle, began to bash in enemy heads. Tense seconds crawled by as one soldier sought to stave off Garfield's entire infantry counter attack with an empty fire arm, and this one brave soul was doing it. Soldiers he faced were amazed to see a savage beast pounding against them. Too stunned they were to prevent his friends from mounting that very same parapet and fire into them. Calvin's tardy comrades have finally arrived, forming a firing line right above Calvin and firing into this congested mass literally surrounding him. It was virtually impossible to miss, targets were jammed packed, belly to back, shoulder to shoulder. It was a field day to some with automatic weapons as corpses began to pile up as several individuals pressed in deep in search for their beleaguered comrade whom had sank into an abyss. Shrugging off dead bodies, they found him, half submerged in upturned earth and muck. Despite having clogs of it shoved up his tiny nostrils, he still managed to hold a sense of humor.

"Now you show up just as I'm winning"

Once they gained part of works, dogs began to hunker down and lay waste to any cat that dared to expose himself. It was a field of death as bodies lay in every foot. Some tried to surrender, others in making a getaway. None managed to succeed.

"Death to them all!" one screamed. Comrades concurred with his sentiments. Just minutes later, every single soul was cut down.

"It really sucks to be you!" Calvin cured them…


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes, they are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson respectfully.

"All rise and hail our glorious leader!" Collix announced, standing at perfect attention as Garfield entered his newly built throne room, which was once his owner's house. His fur was dry and matted. Bits of dirt and debris clotted it up into knots, eyes were piercing red, and stride was that of a newborn giraffe, not the appearance of a victorious general.

As he ascended to his throne made of pure gold and studded with diamonds, Garfield slumped in his seat, arm resting to support his heavy head. It had been a long trip, one in which few of his soldiers survived.

Cautiously, Collix approached him, hands loaded with papers. "Our leader, there are issues at hand that need your guidance."

His eyes looked up, evilly at this cat, "What is needed?" he spat, eyes pure red from having not rested for three days.

"My leader, our army at Indianapolis has been destroyed. Few of them remain, yet we have another division waiting for your command. Just say the word and they will retake the city" his words were hyped and jubilant. Garfield's words were not so when he replied, "No, we will not retake the city. Instead, we will dig in, build up our trenches and forts and let our foe come at us. It will be decided on the outskirts of Muncie of what our revolution will be"

Under his hand, hundreds of prisoners and slaves were ushered out, given tools, and forced to dig, cut, and build. One such individual was a tall, thin man, made thinner by the lack of food, with dark glasses and equally dark hair. Handed a shovel, he was instructed to dig a hole. As his tool pierced the soil, he grumbled to himself, "I'm a patent attorney, not an engineer" His wife was working in a sweat shop in Muncie, polishing metal for cat weapons. For them, it was hell. "At least Calvin's in a safer place" he muttered as his shovel went deeper into the soft soil.

If this is safer, then Calvin wanted to be in heaven. This rag tag army, in which he had somehow managed to rally, had pushed back Garfield's feeble attempt to retake using Kitty tanks, and now had them on the run. Working their way out into the suburbs and eventually into the country side, dogs managed to overcome every obstacle as the shattered cats sought to turn every knoll and hill into a line of defense. Contests were bitter and casualties high, but through sheer determination and ingenuity, dogs overcame everything that was thrown against them. The tip of the spear, Calvin was at the forefront of this drive, always mixing himself up in battle. A soldier whom witnessed him called him, "A pony that hoped about from place to place with unlimited energy and drive"

As they neared the outskirts of Muncie, Calvin finally ordered a halt to his force. On a slight ridge on the south west side of town, he could survey the vast network of trenches being dug, truly impressive, and plump for the taking, however, he had to reject it. Up to this point, his followers were in shambles. Few were left standing. Hungry and exhausted, plus few in number, they were not in shape to attack once more. It was best to let them rest. However, as they recouped, so did Garfield whom was now exerting more and more of his fame to solidify his brevetted power.

After a cat nap and grooming, he called in his new set of advisors to ascertain what was happening elsewhere. In California, the state government had been over run, and now cats have been placed in power. The same could be mentioned for New York and North Carolina. Each of the three states, to show their loyalty, offered gifts to Garfield, including prisoners, which have now become lost. Still, Garfield now flexed his muscles by emplacing new governors of those states, cats he could trust to oversee the influx of his influence as he continued to battle dogs in his state. Indiana was a mixed bag, with small skirmishes erupting all over, but most of the conflict was centralized around it's capital and Muncie. What Garfield needed was more troops and weapons, which were now coming in. Mr. Hobbes, whom decided to stay onboard, was promoted to chief quartermaster whom oversaw all supplies to Garfield's army. With this, he was able to see all weapons and troop movements, which he kept written down on a small slip of paper. All of this needed to get sent to Calvin as quickly as possible. Two days later, the last of the Kitty tanks came back to Muncie, damaged, limping, spewing smoke, they were the last survivors of the ill fated counter attack. Calvin watched them, powerless to prevent them from entering.

At day light dwindled into the evening, a courier arrived, inviting Calvin to a special session of leaders to discuss new tactics in quelling the rebellion. There had not been enough time to shower, comb his hair, or brush his teeth, thus Calvin appeared ragged, red shirt matted, smeared with blood and grime, sort of like what he appeared on Saturdays. In a small room of an abandoned house, arrayed in a circular fashion were five dogs of various styles and ethnicities. Dilger was there, his head almost fully healed. Calvin sat to his right. On his right was a larger German Shepard named Fritz, an abbreviation of his real name that was hard to pronounce, further on was a small rat like dog, named Diego, he was master of information and intelligence gathering. Conco, a pure collie was next, he was master of a small company just like Dilger, fourth was beagle named Samsonite, of quarter masters, and last but not least was Vincent, a tall, slender, pure bred Dalmatian, he was leader of the Fire Brigade, all fire dogs answered to him.

"Officer Calvin," spoke Vincent, "We are most impressed with your handling of the war thus far. I must say it's a true sight to see a dog fighting along side humans, as it must be.

Calvin sat nervously in his chair, surrounded by talking dogs. Hobbes was different, to some he was stuffed, he saw it differently.

"But now, we come to the point where your assistance is no longer needed. We can handle this fight from here" Vincent was a proud animal, but he had ruffled the fur of his friends many times before with his arrogance and self righteousness.

"Don't give me that" Calvin blurted out, shocking everyone on the council, "You dingle berries are the reason why it all went wrong! When I went out there, dogs were fleeing for their lives and doing everything BUT fight. My home is lost, my parents are gone as well, as is my best friend. I want this Garfield to pay for what he has done, and YOU, you little fire puke, are not going to stop me! And what kind of council is this? All I see are a bunch of mutts whom swindle to be to the top and do not a darn thing about those underneath them! The only dog I see whom is doing his best is Dilger here and he's been knocked silly because he's been in combat. So unless you animals take your thumbs out of your asses, I won't listen to a darn word you say" with that, Calvin stormed out of the meeting. Dilger was hot on his heel, furious of what the council thought of doing.

"Quite a spunky little brat isn't he?" Samonsite asked.

"You have no idea" Dilger muttered in response.

Removing themselves from the abstain council, the two officers were bone tired and were not up for a another night in the trenches or sleeping on soil. "How about a midnight stroll?" Calvin suggested, "I wanted to see what it's like out there". Going over the lines was dangerous. Soldiers on both sides were itchy, and fire was spattering in the distance every time a tree branch snapped or a leaf fell. Looking all about him, Dilger came to the conclusion, perhaps it was best to steal himself away from this hell hole, at least for a little while. "I'm up for it. I want to see what a real tree looks like. I'm fed up of fire hydrants" the two smiled and then walked out into the dead of night.

Walking blissfully, bodies hunched over, the two snuck out without alerting nearby sentries. There was no trail to follow, so they blazed one themselves, going past large trees, across small streams, and through thickets, quite daunting, still Calvin was an adventurer, he knew forests and the like, "Just stay close to me" he whispered to his more hesitant follower. After almost two hours of bumbling, they came across a clearing, somewhere west of Muncie. Here, the ground rose from the tree line and near the summit was a large tin shack. There was no sign of movement, no sign of life. Still, it was worth looking into. Perhaps some farmer had stashed away his corn or beef there. Dilger moved out first, at a crawl through the moist short grass. When he reached the shack, he motioned for Calvin to come up. The two surveyed the area, high and low, no sign of life. Before they could make entrance, there came a clatter from inside, followed by some low profanity. Someone was in there. Flanking both sides of the door, the two prepared to make an entrance. At the sign to go, Dilger rapidly kicked it in with all of his might. The darn door lost a hinge and dingle for a moment open before falling off completely, next Calvin entered, weapon at the ready. All about were sacks and boxes, but a shadow in the corner caught his attention. Aiming his weapon, the boy called out for his surrender.

"Whoa! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" a voice called out from the darkness.

"Come on out!" Calvin ordered.

With hands raised, a tall figure emerged, Calvin's face dropped.

"Hobbes!"

"Well, it's about time you showed up." Hobbes smirked, "I was getting rather lonely out here".

"What are you doing out here?" Dilger asked.

"Well, you see, that fat cat thinks that this place, belonging to old Farmer Brown, is a suitable place to build a fort, so I was sent out here to do some scouting. As you can see, it isn't"

With their "prisoner" in tow, Calvin and Dilger escaped into the dead of night back to their line. Garfield was none the wiser of this little raid until several days later when his reports failed to come in. Sitting in his throne room that night, he dictated a personal order, "All cats that willingly give themselves up to the enemy, will be summarily put to death. All prisoners recaptured by this army will like wise be done so".

Returning back to their lines, Calvin had a sit down with his friend, "Blimey, how come you went back?"

"Well, listen, I tried to get back, but that darn fat cat ordered me onto the trains which were under guard. It was simply too dangerous for me to go back to you." Hobbes confessed.

Calvin bought this, at least he was safe.

"While you were off having coffee and crumpets with the king, we had a real situation on our hands. They threw tanks at us. Hundreds of them" Calvin squawked.

"Yes, I know about them. Kitty tanks as they are known. I would have warned you about them, but there was no way for me to get word to you" Hobbes confessed "This time, I swear, I won't go back. I'm here to stay" Hobbes said, raising up his right paw in a swearing allegiance.

"That's good enough for me" Calvin shrugged. Dilger was convinced as well, but how would members of the council take it? They were not too sympathetic to line crossers. Still, Hobbes provided valuable intelligence on the works Garfield was constructing. He also assured Calvin that his parents were alive, languishing under Garfield's hand. The news he provided were not too pleasing as well. Thousands of cats were still under arms, and massive forts, casemates, and batteries were being built up all around Muncie in a attempt to seal it off from the rest of the world. Though their victory in Indianapolis was deceive, they failed to act on it in time. Small clusters of rebels were still trapped inside that town, but it was not too troublesome.

As the night wore on, Dilger was dispatched a letter from the council. In it, they stated a new reorganization of the force. Calvin was going to be removed and placed with his own separate command, consisting of other humans, and Dilger was also being transferred as well to a different command, thus separating the trio.

Taking the paper to read himself, Calvin read it with disgust, "We deem it advisable that the boy be placed in a isolated command to be the forefront of our new campaign. His command will be under his jurisdiction, but will still be under high dog command to be moved on elder call only. He will not be troubled with any other operation other than a blocking force to prevent an escape attempt, reconnaissance, and sabatoge"

"What in the world is going through their minds" Calvin exploded, crumbling up the paper before throwing it onto the floor. "This is incredible, they're breaking us up and it makes no sense in what they are saying!"

Dilger calmly refrased those words, "It means that you are being given your own command"

"there goes the war" Hobbes rolled his eyes.

"You are not going to concern yourself on what everyone else is doing, we'll handle it, just do what you think is best to win this bloody war" Dilger touched Calvin's shoulder, nodded slightly to Hobbes then calmly walked away. It would be the last time they would see him for a long time. Having his own command would be a trill, except their was no command at all. When the dogs segregated the humans from the dogs, there were only a dozen, not even a hand full and most were just kids, not old than he was. It took Hobbes size and strength to get the unruly ones into line. Their line of fourteen total was a laughing stock as the hundreds of dogs continued to shift to their right, forming up a proper line and moving forward towards where the action was. Already, in the far distance, artillery flashes and booms could be heard. That is where they wanted to go, and some were getting adjetated.

"Why aren't we going?" one yelled, "I came here to fight not to sit out here and bake in the sun!"

Fed up of hearing their whining, Calvin sat under the shade of a sappling, pulling out a crumpled brown piece of paper. On it, Hobbes had sketched out a rough detail of the terrain to their front. Most just forest and a few streams crudely marked "hobs crk" It was too vague to come up with a inedible plan, but the company was near the point of mutiny and it had only been one night.

"some commander I turned out to be" he muttered to himself as hobbes finally showed up, two tin cups full of powdered organe juice.

"Here's your breakfast" he smiled, handing over a cup. Calvin accepted it, taking a sip, his lips curled at it's rough taste before setting it aside and getting to work..

"Hobbes, if we move here and take this area where we captured you, perhaps that will gain us an advantage."

"Perhaps, but we still don't know what Garfield is up to. He could have moved his troops there. No doubt he knows that we are here."

"They outnumber us. Plus they have tanks, and now, more forts" Calvin hissed almost under his breath.

"That's not the worst of it" Hobbes informed, "They are also working on some top secret plans"

"Like what?" Calvin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Secret. Not even I could find out, except that it involves flight"

Unmoved, Calvin went down his line to inform them on his next plan, following one more day of rest, they were to move forward, towards a small forest bordering Muncie. It was just twelve miles from town, so there was bound to be some enemy. Everyone began to grow jittery. There, Calvin planned on establishing a large fort, out in the open. It's size would rival that of any other, beckoning all that saw it to attack, drawing them away from their own defenses.

"If we can move those artillery that were abandoned at home, we can further increase our strength, we could probably throw some rounds right into their trenches" Calvin said.

"I agree" said Hobbes, "But it will be difficult to do. When they retreated, Garfield had all the rail and road ways sabotaged. Without them, it will take days to move those guns here, plus they need powder and rounds."

Thinking to himself hard, the boy had to think fast over what to do. He could move and establish his base, but without artillery, it would be risking for an untold amount of cats were lurking nearby. After a night of sleep and a good meal, the company broke camp and set out towards the woods. It was an uneventful trip, but everyone's nerves were on a knife's edge. Every sound caused them to halt and lay down, then Hobbes would search about. Finding not a soul, they would resume for about 100 yards and the process would repeat itself. When they came upon that same shack that Hobbes was captured in, Calvin reckoned that this would be suitable use for his fort.

"We'll tear it down and use the tin for our walls" he told Hobbes.

It was another half mile of travel, when they crested the horizon did Calvin come to realize that the spot he now stood was perfect for his fort. To his immediate front, just a half mile distant was a thick forest, to his right and left were clearing, perfectly flat grass, lush and green, being fed from a stream.

"1st Tiger Hobbes!" Calvin ordered. He appeared, standing at attention. "We will build here. Have a detail sent back to the shack, dismantle it and have it's contents brought up here"

"Yes, sir" Hobbes saluted. Taking six members, they went back and preformed this task. Otherwise, Calvin's remaining team began to clear out the field, marking according to the boy's expressed view on the outline of his fort. He wanted it big, a full square acre. "It will have gun ports, and observation towers, with barbwire, and minefields" rambling on and on about it.

When Hobbes returned, the work got underway, lucking several good shovels were inside the shack and were put to work. As the ground was broken and put into sacks, the fort gradually began to take shape. Situated on a slight rise, it wasn't much of an advantage, but by night fall, enough earth had been excavated that only the heads of it's occupants could be seen. Lacking artillery, they had brought with them several stacks of small arms of all sorts from automatics, to bolt actions, plus a few pellet rifles. With a dense forest to the east and open fields north and south, the fort looked vulnerable, still, both the two leaders refused to abandon it, "This is the way we want it" Calvin smirked.

Two more days elapsed, G.R.O.S.S was still there, working their shovels to a nub. Nothing much happened except a light show at night when artillery opened up. Somehow, they felt they were being left out. Taking full advantage of the isolation, the garrison sought to get a good nights sleep. With Hobbes on sentry duty, Calvin found himself a blanket and curled up against the wall. Hours went by, when suddenly, he was jerked awake, "Get up! Someone is coming" It was Hobbes, face right into his. Others were awaken as well, storming up to the walls, rifles resting on the crest, waiting to fire. Out near the tree line, they could see several dark figures moving about.

"Are they friendly?" Calvin whispered to Hobbes.

"They aren't cats" he replied.

"Then they must be friendly" a soldier jauntly spoke, only to be hushed by his compatriots.

"Don't be too sure. Garfield has many humans working on his side as well." Hobbes told them.

The figures milled about for a few moments, then began to march right for the fort. "Steady" Calvin told them, "Let them get close. Make every round count"

Tense moments passed as the figures, seemingly multiplying as they came closer, came to within a few yards of them.

"Halt or you will be shot!" Calvin screamed.

"Oh jeez!" one of them cried, "Not you!"

"Susie?" lowering his weapon.

"Yes it's me, noodle brain. How in the world did you get out here?"

"I'm in command of this fort, you booger" he spat back.

"There goes the war" she squawked.

"Hey!"

Susie and her friends were accepted into the fort. They were dogs of the mutt variety. Strays and orphans from Muncie that had escaped from Garfield as the rebellion got underway. They were just a mere handful themselves, about twenty or so, but it was a welcome boast.

Given a blanket and some drink, the three friends gathered about to remanice.

"Well" said Susie, sipping occasionally from her drink, "I found myself moving about through the streets. Somewhere in the process, I found myself lost, then the cats found me, surrounded me, and took me away, back to their head quarters. Before I could arrive, they saved me. Since then, I have been with them. What have you been doing?"

"Fighting tanks" Calvin boasted.

"Stop playing around" she sighed.

The next day, Hobbes was sent out into the woods to see if he could come into contact with the cats. There had to be someone out there in which to fight. With him gone, the rest of the garrison set about strengthening their little fort. With their reinforcements, the walls were strengthened, back by the tin from the dismantled shack and sandbagged, view ports were made with fallen timber for beams, making it a stout fort. Still, if Garfield decided to throw his tanks or large infantry units at him, it wouldn't do much good.

"Just wish we had those guns" he kept muttering to himself.

By noon, the sun was burning down on them from high above. It was a cloudless, dry day, and sweat was forming on their brows and flowing down their cheeks. Buckets full of water were being drunk, but that didn't help stave out exhaustion. There was no shade to shelter in, no hats, or any other protection, they had to just bare with it as the tiger came galloping back with news.

"There are there!" he exclaimed, pointing into the woods, "lots of them! They are working on a fort themselves, but are in the open, we can attack!" Calvin agreed.

"Here's the plan. I'll take a team out like bait. Go through the woods and lure them in. When they do, we will fall back to the fort, where you will be hiding in wait. They will think we are just six or so, so they'll go right for it"

"Sounds good to me" Hobbes smiled.

Taking six hand picked individuals, Calvin set out at a dash towards the woods, everyone else hunkered down inside the fort to wait the signal. With his eyes peering through a view port, Hobbes kept a visual as Calvin disappeared into the tree line.

Sounded like a simple raid. All he saw were just a few dozen workers, digging and moving. They were not soldiers, perhaps they would surrender without a fight. Hope so, this war was dragging on for too long.

Five minutes elapsed, what was taking so long? No sound of gunfire, no movement. Hope everything was okay.

Suddenly, there was wild yell and people began to run for their lives from the trees. Members of the garrison came right up and jumped back into the fort, eyes full of fright.

"What happened?" Hobbes asked one, grabbing him by the collar to steady him.

"It was a trap. There were thousands of them. They knew we were coming!" he said.

"Where's Calvin?" Hobbes hissed.

He jumped in, the last to do so.

"Hobbes! What the hell happened, there were thousands of them out there. It was an ambush."

"I didn't see them" he told him, "I swear. All I saw were just those workers."

"Well, in any case, there were thousand of black cats, and now they are coming for us"

"Look!" Susie cried out, pointing southward.

Hobbes rose up to his feet and looked, his eyes filled with terror at the sight of a enemy column marching towards him. It must have been 100 strong force arrayed neatly in a thin line of battle, shoulder to shoulder with only a few feet in between. When Susie raised the alarm, they had just moved into position and begun their advance. After taking ten paces, they stopped, knelt, and fired a volley. Getting back up, they reloaded, advanced another ten paces, knelt, and fired a second time. This process repeated itself several times, all the while, the garrison was firing wildly in return. Hobbes did his best to rally them, jumping with his superior jumping legs, from position to position, shouting encouragement, damning cowards and the cats, and praising those that stayed. Having crossed some 300 yards, the company fired another volley, they were getting dangerously close now, and were nearly intact, only three bodies marked their trail. It was the last 300 yards that proved the most difficult. Going up a steady incline, the cats moved up, fueled by thoughts of victory, began to encroach closer and closer the fort. As they did so, a much louder yell sent a cold shiver down the backs of the garrison, for out of the tree line to their front came the reason why. A full brigade, and not just any brigade, Divet's Brigade, the Black Cats, reinforced now and up to 4,000 strong. With new weapons and a stronger set of wits, they came barreling right up to the fort, weapons at the ready.

"This can't get any worse" Susie yelled.

With few numbers on hand, and unwilling to retreat, Calvin Hobbes steadied his followers. Resting their weapons on a pile of branches, they waited until their foe was just yards away before giving them a defiant volley in their faces…..


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield, they are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. I do however, own everyone else.

Readying themselves, everyone grew tense, fingers on the trigger. Leaning beside Calvin, Hobbes with a Ak-47 in his hands was more infuriated than everyone else. He walked into an ambush. Ashamed, he wanted to extract revenge on those little bastards, and he wanted to do it now, ignorant of Calvin's ideal of letting them come closer, to be larger targets for his riflemans aim. Being children after all, they would be able to cut down more. As bullets continued to pick away at the ramparts, the cats complied by inching closer and closer. With each step they took, it was another step closer to their graves. Fifty yards, thirty, man they were closer.

"Just a little closer" Calvin told them. His followers were looking at him as if crazy.

Seeing those eyes through the blasts of hot fire, Hobbes already had his dander up long enough.

"Kill them! Kill them all!" he roared, raising his weapon and blazed away. One cat fell, giving a blood curling scream. Then another was hit and fell on it's back. They were falling like bowling pins suddenly. Other members rose up and fired as well, a ragged volley dealt into the column. Officers were going about, trying to keep them in line, their orders were virtually useless like this attack. Other members began to throw lead right back into the tree line where the ambush occured, but their rounds had untold effect. Trees, trunks, and vast under growth well concealed sharpshooters that fired back. Eventually, fire from them began to slacken as well. Bullets were right on and casualties were piling up fast. Those in the tree line were throwing out lead as fast as they could, but the garrison had played their cards right, well concealed behind stout defenses with good weapons, it was useless to take up another drive to try and take the fort.

"Fall back!" came the order. The cats were more than happy to comply. Green grass was turning red under their blood as more and more fell. No cover was available, cats just took it like men. Arming a grenade, Hobbes give it the full strength of his arm. Hitting, rolling, and eventually detonating, this small explosion did not cause any casualties, but it did shatter already fragile moral and sent the enemy column fleeing back to the depths in which they came.

As for the column in the field, the return fire was heavy and accurate. In just moments, twelve of their number had crumbled down, their blood soaking the green grass. Members picked up their weapons and ammunition to carry on with the fight, but through it all, cat fire was woefully inaccurate. Those shots that didn't go over head buried themselves into the ground below the fort.

Yielding ground that was hard fought for, cats thought that they would be safe once far away from the fort, say 300 yards, but it was a long journey to reach that distance. A journey that was riddled with more fire. Three more of their number fell as Hobbes readied a hand grenade.

Giving this baseball size weapon all he could, Hobbes threw it out, only to see it land far short of his target. Still, when it detonated, spewing fragments of razor sharp metal, it was this that broke the back of the attack. Unharmed but phased, the cats finally broke and high tailed it back to the depths in which they came, much to the delight of Calvin, Susie, and others. Hobbes still wasn't satisfied. Egg was on his face. How could he have walked into an ambush? Cats. He was a cat and he walked into it. Attempting to console his friend, Calvin assured him that it wasn't his fault, "This is war, and you are a tiger. You can't expect to know and see everything that happens"

"No, but I can try" Hobbes growled.

"We took out a number of them" Calvin exclaimed, "Our party counted twenty of them in the woods and out in the field. We did pretty good"

Still unmoved, Hobbes growled and returned to his bed.

Howls from wounded and the silence of the dead marked the furthest advance the cats made towards the fort. They didn't get close, but they did deal a blow to Calvin's force. They began to realize the vulnerability of their position. Outnumbered, outgunned, and out of everything else, Susie noted to herself, "So this is how the men at the Alamo fealt when the Mexicans came over the walls"

The last attack was beaten off, but it wasn't going to keep as this. Everyone knew that the cats would come back, and that this fort, this pile of puny dirt and sticks was a thorn in his side and would soon become the focal point of Garfield's rage. Disgraced by his failure to hold Indianapolis and the collapse of his two grand divisions, the fat tabby as on the verge of total collapse it terms of his revolution and in his mind.

Though similar uprisings were popping up all over the continent, bringing with it tithing and assurance, this was only a damper on their supposive leader, the one whom began it all. Public speeches which were common on the fence were now rare as the leader shut himself from the outside world, remaining instead cooped up inside his mansion, his bed, served only by a few trusted advisors and chefs. No one dare question his judgment for one flip of his finger would bring the wrath of his body guards. For now, his army, like a wounded animal, was being cornered inside the town of Muncie. Numerous forts and miles of trenches were being constructed for one last final stand. Generals pleaded to remove themselves from this death trap, make camp somewhere more valuable, but Garfield decline, he did not wish to move himself from his home.

"We stay and fight here" he told them, "If anyone tries to leave, shoot them."

What they referred to were reports of dogs coming in from all sides. Calvin had turned himself from a bratty child into a leader almost over night. All over, people passed around his exploits by tongue, praising his bravery and audacity towards felines. His friend Hobbes was also praised, but also denounced. There were some whom questioned his loyalty. One cannot jump from side to side without a purpose. What was his?

Before this daily briefing was over, his messenger had one last bit of information to give:

"Sir, the uranium from Arizona has finally arrived, and I have our scientists already at work constructing the missiles"

Garfield didn't seem amused, staring quietly from his seat, back facing his advisor, overlooking a vast landscape of Indiana, two forts were seen being constructed on the horizon.

"Very well," he replied in a low, mono tone voice, "Have work quickly. I want this done as soon as possible"

"Yes, sir" spoke this messenger, turning and beginning to leave, only to be stopped.

"And inform my air commander, I want my fighters in the air this day. Have them destroy that little fort"

"Yes, sir" snapping, a smile on his face.

Over at Calvin's fort, the garrison, number roughly forty individuals, sat rather carelessly inside their protective works. They have invested much time in throwing up earth and wood, now came a time to rest, get some food, and some sleep. Provisions, though strained a bit, were enough to provide comfort. There was a kettle of hearty stew and bread being passed about by the girls whom prepared it. Bowls were handed out, then she came along with a scoop, splashed it's contents, the Candance came and gave out slices of white bread. Drink came only in water. Though not to their liking, it was clean and cool, to quench their thirst from their hard work. Once each member was given their food, the two girls sat close to Calvin and Hobbes, partaking in their own preparation. Dabbing the bread inside their stew, they nibbled on the bread. By pure chance, Susie glanced up into the near clear sky to see several large, dark figures off in the distance.

"There are large birds over there" Susie pointed out towards the north east rather nonchalantly. No one really took notice until she peered closer and realized they were getting bigger by the second. "My, they really are big" she remarked to no one in particular as she rose up from her seat, crossed the compound of the fort to get a closer look. Seeing her do so, Calvin and Hobbes rose up to see for themselves. Using his keen hunter eyes, Hobbes zoomed in, almost squinting to see what they were. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide with terror, "Those aren't birds" he remarked, dropping his bowl and racing towards his weapon.

"Hey, I spent all morning working on that" Susie complained, but Hobbes ignored her, taking up an AK-47, throwing it over his shoulder and picking up a light machine gun.

Others were looking on, mystified. What was happening.

"Cats are coming!" Hobbes yelled.

Everyone jumped to attention, looking about. There were no cats to be had. Not a soul to be seen on earth.

"Not down here, you fools, up there!" pointing towards the birds.

"Since when do cats fly?" asked Calvin whom was baffled at this sort of riddle.

Without warning, cannon fire began to ripped apart earth by their heads. Dropping their meals and hitting the deck, the garrison soon realized that they were indeed flying cats. With high pitched whines, these unknown aircraft began to form up around the fort, in preparation for attack.

Each craft was in the shape of a box, with slightly swept back wings, a flimsy tail and a dome shaped cockpit. Crewed by two, a pilot and rear gunner/navigator, the Boxcar as it was called, was Garfield's latest weapon and it was armed to the teeth. Two bomb racks on it's wings carried two 250 pound bombs and four heavy cannons for armaments. As they came down in a steep dive, the garrison finally shook themselves out of shock, gathered up any weapons they could and began to fire back just as the first bomber unleashed its bombs and pulled up from it's dive.

"Take cover!" someone shouted and everyone scattered to the wind as the two bombs struck earth, emitting a tremendous earth tremor and a deafening roar as dirt, rock, and timber was thrown into the air. Stunned but unhurt, Calvin emerged from his shelter to see two car size craters at the very boundries of his fort. Close call. That bomber pulled away, it's rear gunner peppering with his machine gun. The next bomber came down, this time it's forward cannons blazing. This time, a bomb struck the ramparts and blew it to bits, creating a sizable gap in the walls. One after another, the bombers came, causing more and more damage. Braving their fire, Hobbes picked up a machine gun, mounted it on a large piece of timber, and began to fire back as a few others picked up weapons as well to reply back. Lieutenant Rice Wine, a Siamese cat and his tail gunner Sparkle, a gray tabby with faded white stripes, both were new, eager, inexperienced aviators, lured to this branch of the service with the promise of better pay and adventure with aircraft. As they came down, their aircraft lurched forward. Recovering quickly, Wine looked at his instruments to see that he was losing fuel and coolant, fast. Pulling out of his dive early, and still armed with his bombs, Wine set a course to return to base, informing his squadron commander about his situation. Still in the air thirty seconds later, Wine realized that he wasn't going to make it back, fuel was gone, and now a fire was reported in the engine compartment.

"Get out!" ordering his gunner to do so. Like a meteor, the jet came screaming down, engulfed in flames, smacking into a farming field a few miles away from the fort where the people rejoiced in it's down fall. One down, eleven to go, but their would be no more meteors falling from the sky. One by one, the Boxcars came down, unleashed their cargo, strafed them with two passes each, then went home, leaving the fort a smoldering ruin.

With one of their own down, the rest of the fighters still were relentless in their pounding of the fort. Bombs coupled with strafing turned the fort into a virtual shambles. Fires broke out near the magazine and there came a great rush to remove as much of it as possible before a earth shaking explosion destroyed them all. Throwing up an umbrella of fire up, Hobbes made their approaches difficult, but by then, the damage had been done. After thirty minutes of nonstop pummeling, the cats broke off the action and returned to their base, victorious.

Twelve fighter/bombers had turned G.R.O.S.S fort into a shell of it's former self. Several smaller fires had broken out inside the works. Wielding blankets and piling up dirt, the garrison, horribly shaken but unharmed, managed to put all of them.

"Well that was an interesting experience" Calvin joked as he surveyed the wreckage.

"I'll say." concurred Hobbes, "I place my money they'll have more here. They will keep us pinned down and destroy us as they move up their army"

Those words didn't seem to cause much of a stir in Calvin's mind as the two entered their fort. Susie and Candance were running about trying to salvage as much of the food as possible. Similar such parties, after quenching the flames, went out into the woods to fell trees to be used in replacing the lost walls. Cutting down saplings and using ropes to haul them along, the small garrison began patching up the damage and Hobbes set about to strengthen up the outer defenses. When saplings were cut down, their branches were removed. Using those, the tiger planted them into the ground, creating a tangled mess called an abates. Craters caused by aerial bombing were filled up as the holes were shored up as best as possible Susie and the girls made a count of all the weapons and supplies that were still left. News was not bright. Much water and meat that had arrived for them was now burned or spilled. Only three days worth of food was left and even less in water.

"We'll have to send out foragers" Hobbes insisted.

"Why would we send out criminals?" Calvin asked.

"What?"

"Yes, you said foragers"

"Yes?"

"Then why would we send out those that forge checks?"

"Not forgers, you idiot. Foragers!"

When this small matter was decided, a party of three took up as many pales and bottles as they could carry and sought to find a fresh stream. Two guards kept up a watch as they drowned their containers, sucking up it's contents. Not a shot was fired in their direction as they safely returned to their fort. It was a small victory for them. This sector was relatively quiet for the moment, but several miles away in the confines of Muncie, it was a war zone of it's own.

A messenger, stalk white with fear, held a letter in one hand, the other nervously reached for the knob that allowed him access into Garfield's chamber. It's hinges squeaked as he gained access, there the great leader sat, back towards him.

"What is it?" he asked lowly.

"N…n….nothing important, sir" he chocked out, his fingers fumbling with this piece of paper, "Just that our forts are still under construction. There are more supports coming our way."

"Very well, inform my chef that I'll have my lasagna here, tonight"

"Yes, sir" replying, taking a deep breath. Turning to leave, Garfield called out to him abruptly.

"I have grown tired of this band of rebels. I want every available soldier to muster up and take that blasted fort by any means necessary. Inform General Rats that he will be placed in command."

"Yes, sir"

General Rats was the newest of the general staff. He wasn't much for appearance. Generals are commonly referred to as being tall, mature, dashing, charismatic, but then there was Rats. Born a stray, this five year old calico had mattered gray hair, unkempt, one eye that was lame, one ear dead, just flopping along as he walked, signs of a veteran. Yet, he contained a valuable set of knowledge of how to lead cats, just like Garfield. When word was passed that he would led a force to destroy this enemy fort, Rats took it very seriously. Calling a officers call, or meeting, he laid out the ground work for his plan to them all to see.

Permitted to use as many soldiers as deemed necessary, Rats decided to place a tough security force of five hundred hand picked soldiers. They would sneak around to encompass the fort, preventing anyone from escaping. Their iron ring would also overtake their own forces, to prevent cowards from skulking away.

When the battle would commence, this force would be used a decoy, spreading out the garrison, giving them a shoulder to look over, and provide suppressing fire as the main body, the real attackers, would charge at one point, from due east. Artillery would be available as well, two batteries of howitzers would be wheeled up to hammer the defenses as everything is put together.

Those soldiers available, the Black Cat Brigade and two batteries, eight guns, were rolled in and began to unleash harassing fire onto the fort, well out of range to be hit in return. This went on for two days, dawn through dusk, with infiltrators constantly picking at them from the trees and with surprise raids. Though there was a lot of fire exchanged, there were few casualties inflicted, and yet, the garrison was beginning to feel the effect of strain. Worn down to a nub, Calvin and Hobbes were helpless to make a move when Rat's main body finally arrived from Muncie via train, where he immediately put them to work to encompass the entire fort before any more reinforcements or dispatchers could work their way through. When this happened, Rats silenced his guns to conserve their valuable ammunition, giving Calvin a chance to take a gander of the terrain without worrying about having his head be carried off. Tall green grass swayed in the fields as a gentle wind began to touch their very tips. It was a warm day, a day in numbers that wree utterly forgotten. After all of the torment being dealt to them, no one had kept track of the days, it didn't matter for they were numbers. As he looked out, there were several heads seem to be moving out of the north. Looking south, another body of cats were moving as well.

"Holy!" Calvin exclaimed.

Waking up Hobbes and Susie from their first sleep in a long time, he told them to their was a foul plot afoot. Not making sense of what he was saying, the two mounted a perch to see for themselves, by then, larger bodies of cats were moving.

"They're trying to surround us" Hobbes told them.

"then we must leave now before it's too late!" Susie exclaimed.

"it's already too late" Hobbes told them lowly so no one else could hear. A bullet richocted off the ground near them, causing the trio to dive for cover. Was he right? Could be, but Calvin felt that now it was time to make a ultimate descision. No longer harassed by artillery, Calvin ordered his entire company to gather with him in the center compound of the fort. Two sentries were left to keep watch, well within ear shot of this proceeding. Standing in front of them, Calvin began to feel like Colonel Travis at the Alamo, except they would not have to suffer a similar fate. With a weight sitting in the pit of his empty stomach, he finally came up with the right words to tell them. News was grim. No new people or supplies had arrived, and provisions were running out. Assembled inside the compound of the fort. In the predawn darkness of the third day of the siege, as the morning mist still clung heavily on the wet grassy earth, he asked all of them what they wanted to do.

"I can't sugar coat it" he told them, "Those flea bags are moving in more and more troops, it's only a matter of time before this place is surrounded and destroyed." he carefully observed all of the young faces looking at him. Tired, ragged, wanting of sleep and good food, much were older than him, some of other genders, and races, all bound by their common devotion of quelling this rebellion.

"Those of you who wish to leave, can do so now, while there is still time" Here, he offered a chance to escape. Their was no cowardice for those whom wished to jump the walls. Live to fight another day, was their motto. Not giving another word to them, the boy general departed to his flimsy shelter. Hobbes was already there, trying to catch up on some sleep.

When night time came, a light shower began to fall. No one said a word as some went about to pack up their belongings to head out. Some were taking Calvin's offering of escape. There was no show of cowardice from those that remained behind, it was their choice. Most that chose to leave were wounded to begin with and needed better medical attention that could be provided here. Susie came up to them:

"Why don't you leave, girls shouldn't be involved in a fight like this" Calvin told her softly.

"I can't" she told him strongly, "This is my fight as well. They took my parents, burned my home, and forced me to live on the land. This is every bit of my fight as it is yours"

Nodding in acceptance, Calvin next turned his gaze to Candance, halfway concealed behind Susie.  
"What about you?" he asked.

"Me to. My own Cuddles is out there fighting against me" My parent's are gone as well, and they will pay."

Two would stay with them. As he conferred with Hobbes, he told of the girl's choices. "Did you know that Candance had a cat named Cuddles"

"Really?" Hobbes asked.

"Now it's out there, fighting for that fat cat. Wonder why it would decide to fight those that cared for him?"

"Probably because they named it Cuddles" Hobbes retorted.

By night fall, the very last had left, shrinking away into the darkness towards the west. There was only twenty people inside the fort of G.R.O.S.S less than half of it's original number, but they still held firm the belief that they could hold out until reinforcements arrived.

"Boy are we in a nut" remarked Calvin as he prepared to get some more sleep. There was no sign of activity this night, nothing new to remark. Just some campfire to the east.

As he began to nod off, the cats began to stir. There was much work to be done before Rats committed them to battle. Engineers, or sappers, were issued their short axes and officers, looking over a detailed diorama of the fort, informed them where they needed to make their gap. Artillery was wasn't going to be needed, it had done it's part for the siege, giving the defenders not a night's rest until now. Now, their muzzles were silent. Instead, Rats ordered his infantry to form into three columns of attack to conceal themselves inside the forest to the immediate east of the fort. As they waited, five hundred others began to sneak around the flanks encompassing the entire fort. This was Rat's security force, to prevent defenders from taking flight or their own numbers.

Everything was quiet up to this point. All sounds were muffled as best as possible. No shouts, calls, or any other noise. Suprise was key. The defenders were sound asleep, only one sentry was on duty, Miller, a young, blonde hair, freckle faced seven year old and he was drowsy, unable to detect their advance. As the forces began to grow closer and closer, Rats found himself in a tree over looking the fort. It was a great place to watch the battle unfold. His first column began to move forward.

Officers were fresh and green, as were the soldiers they were leading. Even though surprise was sought, it was quickly lost when officers began to shout, "Forward! Go forward! Long live Garfield!"

Jumping up from his shelter, Calvin looked out into the field to see the first sappers going to work.

"Hobbes!" he cried, "They're here!" shaking his tiger wildly, screaming into his ear.

200 soldiers comprised the assault company as they stormed towards the fort, their axes began chopping away at the hard abates as Calvin's followers threw every bit of strength they had left at them. With their short axes, these cats of all shapes and colors, began to hack their way through oak and hickory branches, their tips sharpened to a point and tied together to prevent being moved about. It took a great deal of time, climbing over sharp points, on their backs, dodging bullets before a sizable gap could be opened, by then, most of their number were laying helpless. Rats constant probes have worn down Calvin, ammunition was low, but spirits were up as the 1st Column made the first gallant charge right for it, and right into Hobbes's mine field. Explosions went up in rapid succession as one soldier set off one mine, then others would fall and set off others. Undaunted, survivors pressed towards the wall as Calvin rested his AK-47 on the wall and fired away, carefully. Hobbes was at his side. Occasionally, he would arm and heave a grenade into a densely packed group of attackers. There would be a blinding flash, then moans would mark just how far their advance had come.

Rats was watching. Knowing full well that those inside would sell their lives dearly, he saved his best troops to go in last. When the 1st Column was defeated and sent rearing back, the 2nd was ordered in. Blowing bugles, and firing wildly, these second rate troops rushed right through the shattered survivors of the first wave, into the gap, and into the field. This to was greeted by a shower of grenades and automatic fire as the garrison now fully committed itself. Calvin and Hobbes kept the gap a vortex of fire, firing and throwing grenades. Susie and two other girls went about handing ammunition, what was left of it. Three followers were picking away at Rat's security column, believing them to be the focal point of the attack. Indeed this force was slowly edging its way closer to the fort, the real attacking force was shattered inside the gap. In less than half an hour, the 2nd Column was almost destroyed. Quickly, Rats committed his last force, the Black Cat Brigade. With utter force, shoulder to shoulder, a balck wall marched forward, officers in the forefront, waving short swords to guide the way. Refugees came streaming back, some wounded, others cowards. They tried to force their way around the Black Cats, but their ranks could not be broken.

"Just drop and we'll run over you!" they shouted to them. The firing escalated as they reached the gap in the abates. Rounds began to rip into them and soldiers dropped at every step. Calvin was still popping off rounds, Hobbes heaving grenades, everything was moving smoothly, there was no fear or cowardice on their part. The bodies were so stacked up inside the gap that it created a plug that needed to be blown up or physically manhandled. Despite the growing body count, Rats remained confident.

"Tell my security force to begin their advance on the fort" he informed a messenger. This dispatch was carried out and now, within range, this force began to close in on the fort from all sides.

Finding themselves the nut in a cruncher, the garrison began to panic. Shots were going out every which way, loss in control became a mortal wound as everyone else except our trio began to hide themselves instead of fight. At the breach, the engineers cleared away all barriers and Black Cats made one more charge toards the walls. Calvin and Hobbes greeted them with heavy fire, but they had no choice but to yield to them.

They came spilling over the wall. Far too many to count. With his ammunition spent, Calvin ordered everyone at his side to fall back. Before he could issue such an order, something whacked him in the temple. Knocked against the parapet, semiconscious, blood streaming down to his cheek, he was out of the fight.

Seeing his friend go down, Hobbes stopped and charged to retrieve him. An officer of the Black Cats saw him, "Kill the traitor!" he cried, emptying a pistol. Throwing down his rifle, Hobbes attempted to lift his friend away, only to be fallen upon by a wall of bayonets. Pierced in the chest, stomach, and both arms, he lay on the ground, hands just inches away from his friend.

Susie fled for her life from one end of the fort to the other, screaming frantically that all was lost. There was perhaps only six defenders left, confined to a small corner of their fort. It was hopeless to try an attempt an escape, the security force had since advanced on the fort, tightening it's cordon. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she implored those still alive to save themselves as best they could, that Calvin and Hobbes had fallen. Through the smoke came the scattered bands of cats, rifles and bayonets gleaming in the moonlight. Like a wave, they descended on the pitiful band of survivors whom sold their lives dearly. In just moments, they were dispatched with much hatred. Blood blinding one eye, Calvin opened his other, painfully to see cats, victorious ones, running about in his fort. Cheering was rampant as they waved their colors from over the walls. A figure came into his vision. It wasn't Hobbes. Kneeling down, this figure knew he was still alive.

"For you, the war is over" it said to him.

Sighing, he slowly closed his eyes and fell to sleep….


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield, they are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. I do however, own everyone else.

His fight was over. The fort of G.R.O.S.S had been over run by General Rats victorious cats whom paraded in front of their many captives. Laying unconscious among his works, his friend Hobbes at his feet, the boy felt the sense of dread that most prisoners feel as the process came of clearing up the wreckage and removing the bodies.

Some of the more lucky ones were the only girls that remained behind. Candance and Susie were brought forth to several officers. Hands bound before them, they were helpless but did not need to fear of torture but were whisked away to somewhere unknown, possibly towards Muncie where hundreds of others have been sent. Why them so quickly was always a question.

They were lucky not to be treated as Hobbes was. When soldiers found him to be alive, if barely, they viewed him as a traitor. Instead of being unceremoniously put to death by a firing squad, his feet were tied and his body was dragged outside the fort, over the palisade he created, and dragged into the woods as well.

Some of the wounded were too far gone to be tended for. Still, Rat's gave for them to be treated well. That didn't comfort the soldiers. After having seen many their comrades killed, they wanted to even up the odds a little bit. Several members of the garrison were placed on stretchers in the fort's main compound, guards surrounding them with automatic weapons. No one knows exactly what happened next, but what did is fact. A burst of fire followed by a stream of lead came from the barrels of the guards. Bullets began to rip into the prisoners as they lay helpless, moaning, crying for their mothers. Before officers could put a stop to it, seven lay dead.

Rats stood there, looking this boy over. Though dwarfed by his appearance, the general still retained his sense of dignity and pride as he began to question his adversary.

"I must hand it to you, young one. You have managed to become quite a pain in the butt towards our revolution"

Calvin remained silent, chin jutted forward, firm, defiant.

"A large number of my soldiers are dead, but most of your number are as well"

"After you murdered them" Calvin spat.

An aide stepped forward, pistol in hand, "How dare you speak arrogance against the general" hissing through his exposed fangs, cocking the hammer and aiming it right for Calvin's forehead. Rats cooled him down before resuming.

"That unfortunate mishap was not on my account. Soldiers" he shrugged, "Nothing I can do about it"

Knowing he was not going to gain anything further from this, Rats ordered a soldier to take Calvin away, but to leave the rest of the prisoners at the fort to commence with it's destruction.

For two hours, picks, shovels, and cart loads of dirt were at a fever pitch as parties began to disassemble the out walls of the fort. Frames of wood, nails, and stone were removed and piled up. Whatever was not needed was burned, dumped, or buried not far away. As work proceeded, parties outside began to remove the vast collection of dead and wounded whose howling pleas of mercy or death echoed in the ears of everyone for miles. Such a grizzly task it was to care for them. G.R.O.S.S had made a very tenacious stand, though brief. What drove many to awe such courage was the fact that they knew that escape was impossible but most remained steadfast and refused to surrender until the very end.

When a break was called for some time after midday, fires were made using dismantled wood to brewup some hot tea or coffee.

"I thought cats hated this stuff" asked one of the prisoners.

"Shows how little you feeble humans actually know us" a soldier remarked taking a sip with sugar and cream. Rations were rather well received after a hard one victory. Rats issued fresh fish, tartar sauce, along with bread and butter to his soldiers. For his prisoners, he gave only a half loaf of bread and some water, that was it. Trading or barter with captors was forbidden.

Settling down in his head quarters, Rats sat in a crudely made lounge chair that over looked the fort. Aides were asleep or sitting around a fire as an orderly put in the fixings to a nice stew. The temperature was in the 90s, a dry day and there was little else going on. His soldiers had done their job and there seemed to be little to worry about in this sector, the war seemed to be a far distant memory. As the aroma from the stew entered his senses, Rats began to fall into a deep sleep. Time wore on, hours ticked by. Worked was resumed by those laborers and the fort was no longer what it appeared to be, more like a shell crater with no decipherable shape. Wounded were now removed and taken away to hospitals in Muncie, that left only the dead to which there was a load of to be buried. A lare trench was made in the field not very far away then each soldier was carefully buried as their name was marked on a roster. Most of them were strays and had no official name, only a street name so their true identity was never known, only to them.

Those not working began to fall asleep in the heat, under the shade of the trees after taking in their share of the stew. Everything was now slow. No concerns, no dread or worries, but that was about to change fast.

An officer attempted to paswthe lull by looking through his new field glass, binoculars, to identify some terrain features. Towards the north was a slight rise, virtually naked of any obstructions, just some green grass fed by the little stream that snaked through the woods nearby. Looking left and right, the Indiana country side was a rather boredom, either trees or cultivated farming fields. "This is why I hate this place" cursing loudly, "I hate those cows" A figure jumped into view, from behind that rise, then a second and third came in rapid succession. They seemed to be coming over towards him. Adjusting his lenses, the officer made it out to be humans, and more and more were coming over at a run.

"There are humans coming from the north!" the officer shouted, startling those from their sleep. He couldn't make it out whom exactly it was, militia, regular army, an alliance or what. Whatever they were, they were not friendly. This clod of humans made a jog towards the fort just as the weary cats began to stir from their fires and sleep. Stopping a good 400 yards short in a naked field and began to fan out to their left and right in a very thin line not more than twenty or so individuals making it up, with some fifteen feet in between each individual and began to send shots into the woods and fort to make their presence known. Officers jumped up and began to call for their commands, sergeants poked and prodded soldiers into line as shots whizzed by and through. One or two were hit at the fort, their bodies stumbled and fell amongst the dirt at the rim but that did nothing to prevent the Black Cats from forming up into an impressive line of battle.

In one steady motion, they present their arms and dealt one massive volley. Bullets smacked the earth and whined past their ears, yet not a single human in this line was hit. That may have been enough though to shake them up and they beat a hasty withdrawal towards the north.

Disturbed by this sudden attack, Rats stirred from his sleep and issued an order for his lead brigade to give pursuit, hunt them down, and destroy them, each and every one. No prisoners.

"Track them down" Rats ordered, pointing to that pathetic band, "and annihilate them. Those humans are too late to help those in the fort."

Artillery fire also came into play, sending deadly missiles hurling through the air. However, the humans ran so fast that most landed far short of their goal with no effect. With the order now in hand to give chase, a captured brass bugle announced the call to charge and the cats, with a mighty roar, spurted ahead, firing their weapons on the go.

Gratified that he had dealt with this pitiful band of rabble, Rats turned away to lay down and sleep but not here, but at his other head quarters closer to Muncie. A tent more suitable to his taste with a serveant and a plush pillow awaited him. That left his command in the hands of his aide, Colonel Falmouth, or "foul mouth" by his peers for his habit of cursing while trying to rid his hide of fleas by near constant scratching. All seemed to be going well though, so there was little for the colonel to do except watch as his soldiers dealt another blow to the alliance of dog and man. Going up towards the rise, banners in the lead, the faint cheers could still be heard as they finally went over without giving up a moment to pause only to be stopped dead in their tracks by a blistering hot volley delivered right into their face.

Dense white smoke began to rise up, unnerving an already anxious Falmouth. Something dreadful has happened. Most of his soldiers did not use black powder weapons that was giving off this smoke, someone else was there. A trap. It was a trap and he fell right for it. Immediately, he ordered his support battalions forward along with the artillery. At the same time, members of Black Cats began to spill over the rise, many wounded, in an unorganized retreat. Looking at them through his field glasses, Falmouth saw for himself, for through the dense smoke were heads of many humans, bobbing up and down, firing their weapons. There must have been hundreds of them. Even though distance separated the colonel from the battle, several bullets nipped the branches above his head and it began to rain leaves, telling a much different story. Already in a nervous disposition, Falmouth finally snapped when leadership was needed the most.

With pen and paper, he scribbled down a message to be given to Rats at his tent. "Have engaged an entire enemy division. Need reinforcements immediately" an orderly hustled off to find the general as the cats launched an ill-advised and disastrous attack against the rise. Humans up there were now in possession of captured semi and automatic weapons and they pummeled their feline opponents mercilessly. Officers were killed, sergeants wounded, and the common soldier was left thinking all was lost. Many milled about in confusion and raw recruits began to fire inadvertently into their own members. When artillery support came up to fire, even they felt the sting of human fire power. None of the weapons presented metal shields to protect them from small arms fire. Rats wanted his weapons to be light and swift, sacrificing protection for speed. For that, his soldiers paid dearly. In less time it takes to say it, thirty members were slain by their guns. Broken, the cats began to retreat back towards the fort. The humans now gave chase. With a cheer, they poured over the rise and right for them, firing their weapons from the hip. All artillery pieces were abandoned and subsequently captured and trained on their fleeing former owners. Here and there, a cat or small group would rally in the open to try and stem the tide, but these were hacked down, often the wounded being shot by feverish humans as they begged for mercy. The color bearers of the Black Cat's 3rd regiment, with it's entire color guard found themselves running for their lines with a hail of lead nipping at their heels. A major suddenly recognized that they carried the colors, ran ahead and ordered them to halt and flaunt their banners in order to rally the dispersed soldiers. So they formed up, two bearers in the center, a guard on their flanks, and four more in their immediate rear. Once formed up, they wheeled about to confront their foe and was immediately slammed by a volley that decimated all of them. One of the beaers still clung to life. As comrades retreated, stampeding over their bodies, he handed both stands of colors to prevent their capture

Watching the battle go horribly wrong, wounded and dead piling up at every moment, Falmouth turned to his aides to asked for direction. Only two members were there, and one was struck by a spent bullet that rendered him unconscious. Black Cats had retreat towards the woods, the only suitable terrain, but with most of their officers slain, they did not rally. Instead, regiments were intermingled, companies splintered, and platoons spread apart. Still, once they entered the tree line, the cats turned about and made a stand. Bullets began to fall on the humans whom were caught exposed. An officer ordered up the captured artillery to blast them out after seeing sharpshooters climbing up trees in. Salvo after salvo of deadly canister fire turned the thick pine and oak trees into splinters, and the cats were once again put into a route. Undaunted by the aspect of deadly close quarter fighting, the humans exploited their early gains by launching a head on charge. With knifes gleaming and shouts bouncing off the great many trees, the humans plunged right into the undergrowth and engaged in bitter hand to hand combat with the remnants of Rat's command. It was fierce, nothing like ever experienced by veterans. Heads were bashed in, wounded shot or stampeded, some were bayoneted and left pinned to the trunk of a tree. Private Geylo, a wounded black cat, saw the huans coming for them and called out, "I surrender, boys, don't shoot". They did anyways and slit his throat.

Seeing his command broken before his eyes, fugitives streaming back from the conflict, the shrill cries and spats of fire in his ears, Falmouth's mind at last snapped. Blood drained from his head, his complexion turned white and he collapsed where he stood. Thinking him to be dead, Lt. Colonel Merritt, a buff calico with a distinguishable brown, bean shaped, spot over his right eye, took command. He immediately ordered the entire command to fall back into the interior of the east woods, there they would rally and organize a proper defense. Whatever could not be carried had to be abandoned, that included a great many wounded, but with the tide of battle now placed against him, Merritt weighed his options, found himself to be at a lose, chose to cut his losses and save his command. Bugles and calls rang out, calling for all soldiers to obey. Some did, others didn't, or could not. One batch found themselves pinned down on the fort's south slope. Unable to flee with their comrades, they tried to make a break for the south, well away from the conflict. They made it off the field unhurt and hid out for two days in the wilderness until they were caught a patrol belonging to Dilger. As for the rest of Rats' command, they followed Merritt's order, moving east into the dense undergrowth of the east woods where the humans gave chase. Here and there, a running fight would ensue as cats attempted to make a stand. Sergeant Piper, a dominating eighteen year old took to the heels of a large group of Black Cats. At a dead run he jumped over a small creek, shot down one cat, butt stroked another, and tackled a third. The two were locked in a deadly game of combat on the ground of the forest. With skirmishes erupting all around them, Piper remained focused on this one enemy soldier. Ignoring claw slashes to his face and eyes, he took out a knife and plunged it into his foe's chest repeatedly until it stopped moving. Finished with that one, Piper continued on. Moments later, he was shot in the shoulder by one cat and stabbed by another, but ignored the pain and killed both with his rifle before returning back to find others. Such close quarter combat was common as the claustrophobic nature they surrounded themselves in allowed for only face to face confrontations. Just down stream from Sergeant Piper, Privates Rodriquez, and Dominic shot down a fleeing cat then began to take fire from the opposite bank. It was from a group of cats behind some foliage. Both sides were trading shots at one another as they began to form up into groups once again. 4th Regiment of the Black Cats, numbering just some 200 in number, rallied on the east bank and prepared to make a stand as other regiments streamed by without making an effort to join in. Routed artillery crews refused to pick up rifles and help out, intended voted to go in the nearest fort and render assistance, several miles away.

Separated from his command, a color bearer of the 1st Regiment, Black Cats, attempted to ford across the stream where he believed to be his regiment was. Two humans, clad in traditional hunter camouflage, stalked this prey for the banner in which it carried, a pure black silk flag four feet by four feet square. Unbeknownst to this cat, he climbed up the far bank. Thinking to be home free, he roared in delight, only to have a bullet slam through the back of his skull. His banner was picked up, but the cat did not die and was rescued by a medic.

The human drive became spent along the creek and both sides settled down to trading shots at one another but no one made an effort to carry the other side. Casualties were already extremely high and the day was very near over. A bugle call from the human's rear called for them to withdrawal back to the fort just as the sun began to set towards the west.

This was done, and the cats went to the east, thus both sides separated putting an end to this conflict. It was a hot, hard won day. Humans once again held possession of the fort, but they would not stay for long. Former prisoners of G.R.O.S.S, whom have hidden themselves in the shell of their fort, found themselves free from captivity once again. It was from their mouths that others heard of the titanic struggle and subsequent fall of their organization.

Sean was one of those fortunate ones. Sitting inside the hole that was his fort, a captured blanket draped over his shoulder to cover up his sun burned neck, hands nervously holding a cup of soda, a rare treat he surveyed his surroundings. Humans they were, much more matured than he or anyone else he had fought with before were all around. One holding up a captured banner, others with captured weaponry. They seemed to be intent of listening to his tale. One of them was an impressive figure, older and wise, with blue eyes and light hair, he sat on a cracker box, elbows resting on his knees as Sean started, "Those cats came over like a wave, but Calvin and his tiger kept them back. It was like trying to staunch a busted water main with a cork. We tried but it wasn't enough and they overwhelmed us."

That name that was given, Calvin, sounded familiar to this party. "You mean Calvin of the Great Calvin and Hobbes?" the leader asked.

"Why, yes" Sean replied, "You have heard of him?"

"Yes" he scoffed, "we were on our way to him when we ran into these cats."

"Well, you're a bit late" he scoffed, "They captured both of them and sent them to parts unknown".

Unsettled by this batch of news, the leader rose from his seat as his company remained silent but fixated on him. He was like Jesus and they were his disciples, they waited for what words would come from his lips, even the prisoners were intent on listening. Moving around the interior of the shambles, the leader looked at all of their faces. A hard march they were on, fought a fierce battle, and won, now they must do something else.

"Very well. We'll rest here for the night then we'll continue on and link up with the dogs in the south." he said. Once it was given, the company began to disperse to do their chores.

"Oh" Brian called out, "byt the way. Who are you?"

"Captain Miller and these are my Grays"


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes. They are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson, respectfully. I do however, own Dilger, Captain Miller and his Grays, and everyone else.

Gripping the edge of the map table tightly with the palms of his hands, Garfield stared restlessly at the colorful etches on the smooth, plastic covered surface. Drawn in red along the southern border of Muncie, those were his entrenchments to stave off the growing amount of forces of dogs and humans, a informal alliance of sorts to kill him. They were mainly his survivors from the Indianapolis campaign, now being rebuilt and reinforced by new replacements and equipment. Along the east and west, more forces were being built to complete the barrier. Entrenchments miles along, back by forts, batteries, trenches, entanglements, and roads were being made by the hands of slave laborers, prisoners, and unwanted. To the north, there was nothing but green tokens and this made Garfield edgy. Those were his units per say. Partisan units. Rag tag renegade units that swore an oath of loyalty to him, but did what they pleased. One of the growing stars of the bunch was a so called Captain Percy. A gray Russian by birth, Percy was raised in Ohio was a loving family until the revolution called. Feeling a sense of loyalty to his own kind before family, Percy left his mountain home and joined a pack of strays and domesticates as they marched towards Muncie to join up with Garfield. Crossing over the border, they ran into a group of partisan dogs at a place called Rainbow bridge, a mere trickle spanned by a flimsy stone bridge. A fierce fire fight erupted as the cats attempted to ford across and Percy's leader, Tomahawk, was killed. Taking the helm as leader, Percy inspired his followers by bounding ahead, reaching the far bank and driving off his adversaries almost single handedly. He was then promoted as leader of the pack with rank of Captain. Unable to link up in time for the Indianapolis campaign, Percy instead voted to have his company turn into a partisan band to raid and harass the enemy. According to him, "it would be of better use as a strategic measure to destroy the enemies supply depots and interdictions than attack his earthworks."

Sounds reasonable, but it would soon be learned that the captain was fueled by the lust of combat, hit and run tactics, and feeling of death in his hands.

Garfield learned of this band when reports came in, how their glorious charges against superior enemy numbers won them infamy in defeating "armies". But, the truth was far away. Percy was timid creature, whom shied away from going into actual combat, one on one, hand to hand. Instead, he preferred surprise hit and runs and ambushes against weak forces, including unarmed civilians. In one such case, he over ran a group of civilians fleeing for their lives from Cincinnati. After killed all but two, he impressed them into service and forced them to serve as operators with two SUVs. With speed and a cleaver disguise under his belt now in pursuing their helpless prey.

Knowing that he needed scouts and raiders, Garfield, but was livid over the harsh treatment and unpredictability of Percy's bunch, Garfield at last decided to have Percy commissioned into his army to which Percy refused, stating that he did not need to be weighed down by regulations, but he swore an oath of loyalty to his leader and vowed to offer captured supplies and information to his cause.

Issuing out an order the day following G.R.O.S.S destruction, Garfield called out to Percy to hunt down and destroy the band that had routed Rats' command. "Do whatever is necessary to track them down, engage, and destroy this group. Bring me their weapons and the head of their leader."

Arriving by courier, Percy read this order with some degree of resentment and delight. Placed before him was a change to gain glory for himself by defeating an enemy force that has caused great embarrassment to the line of felines. If he was to, and knew he will, capture and kill the leader, imagine the attention that could be gained. Females would flock just to gaze at his very presence. Fan mail, pictures, parties, oh the glory in it all. Savoring the relish, Percy turned his party that were at bivouac well north of Muncie in the Black Forest, a forty acres piece of federal land so dense that it appeared to be nothing but one solid continuing tree truck. They were nearly forty miles from the site of G.R.O.S.S down fall, he would have to move now. Camp was broken, gear crammed inside the SUVs and the drivers had them moving south west into the inky darkness.

Moving along at a steady pace, tripping and falling over moist green grass, rock strewn fields, cultivated farm lands and steep hills Miller's Grays were making good head time. In the vanguard was a single scout, well ahead of the main body. Miller was in the rear of the long column, slapping the back sides of those lagging behind with the butt of his rifle. They were tired, as was he, but they needed to find a better place to hunker down for the night. Where they were right now, a large depression, surrounded by all sides by flat fields, completely unsuitable to make camp, light fires and cook a good meal. Didn't matter much any way for many had empty haversacks.

Time had failed to be with them on this night. Many dead enemy soldiers had their pouches full of meat and drink, waiting to be plucked and devoured. However, before the Grays could do so, Miller ordered them to fall in and get moving. Only the bodies in their path could be stripped .

Sean and his comrades followed along as close as possible. Stomachs were empty and aching, throats dried and sore from parched thirst. Every step they took caused great shooting pain to go from their heels all up their spines. One field after another was passed. Houses were empty and burned. No one was around. A few smoldering remains of cars and houses were found as well, that was it. Trudging along with only the moon light as a guide, the group was silent with only the steady tromp of their feet on the soil.

Roads and river ways had to be avoided at all cost for fear of encountering an enemy patrol. Sergeant Dickenson, was one of the few wounded, hit in the ribs by a small caliber bullet during the counter attack, and he was still able to keep moving using his rifle as a crutch tucked under his right arm. Every intake of breath caused his ribs to hurt. No medicine was available and no time as well to properly dress his wound. Had to keep moving. Despite his pain, Dickenson managed to keep pace, never falling back enough to feel the end of Miller's rifle.

In each of their minds, they wondered if there were others just like them roving about trying to find one another. If he could, Miller could forge a larger force and stood a better chance in defending themselves against those damn cats. That poor scout up front was running a gauntlet of fear. Each hill he went over he would seize up for just a moment, thinking that a shadow would be a enemy soldier with a rifle in hand pointing right at him. Sigh, just a tree stump, a clever one at that. Summing up his courage once more, he went over the next hill, and then another and another.

Choosing to avoid that said encounter for fear of costly delays, Miller kept his pack inside dense woods or behind hills to block a ease droppers vision. His goal was to find a regular unit in which to attach to, but after their encounter at Fort G.R.O.S.S, the decision was changed to back track and head north .

As Garfield looked over his map of growing defenses, an aide reluctantly came up, "sir," lightly.

"What is it?" he growled, tightening his grip on the desk.

"Sir, General Rats had destroyed the enemy fort, but a enemy counterattack forced him to withdrawal back towards town"

Sighing greatly, Garfield dropped his head. It was news that he had learned long ago, but it still hurt like an arrow through the heart. It was fresh open wound ready for salt to be added. What else did this aide have to add. Did Rats somehow become separated, surrounded, and surrendered to those dogs? Steam was shooting out of his ears, even more than when he ate a pan of fresh lasagna, hot from the oven, pan included, Garifled looked up at his aide, waiting anxiously for his response. "Well, what is it?" he asked.

"Well…um…at least this general completed it's original goal. The fort was gone." rather lame way in trying to sweeten up another embarrassment. "

Any prisoners?" he asked.

"Yes, several. They are expectant to arrive later this day" the aide smiled.

There was nothing to smile at. Bouncing around in a flatbed truck, Calvin and several others under his command were forced to endure a kidney busting ride after being herded onboard. Two guards watched over them at the tail gate and upon their arrival at a security building, they were forced out and lined up for inspection. The oldest were separated from the young, and the officers from their followers. From there, they were forced inside the building into separate cells. What was once the county jail now served for political and high ranking prisoners of war. Conditions here left something to be desired. The rooms were small in comparison, there was little light, save from a single naked under powered light bulb. Walls were moist from the humidity and there was a considerable lack of air conditioning for the prisoners, but the guards were flourishing with it outside in separate rooms. Food was also harsh. Instead of being given bread and water, by command of Garfield, each person was given a cup of spoiled soup containing rotten chicken, broth, and some small strips of vegetables. The smell alone was enough to make a man sick, but when one was hungry enough, it was a cuisine. After being pushed into his stall, Calvin became well acquainted with his surroundings. There was a small toilet, a metal sink that had running water, a flimsy bed with a soiled mattress, that was it. No windows, no air vent, and the iron door that confined him in had it's view hole and tray feed sealed up.

"What a way to go" mumbling to himself as he sat his aching body onto the thin mattress. All alone, his head collapsed towards his knees, the boy began to reflect deeply over what had happened during the night. It was all such a blur that he couldn't exactly remember anything. Saw Hobbes, but now he was gone. To where was unknown, perhaps they had already placed him against a wall and executed him as a traitor. Such victories were under his belt, how could he go so wrong? Indianapolis, rescuing those people from California, wonder where they were now. Probably dead after fleeing back to their state. Some partisan unit probably ambushed them on the way back, or so they thought.

"What to do? What can I do?" his voice squeaked from his hoarse throat and chapped lips. No answer was immediate. Soon, his voice turned to sorrow as he began to think about his parents for the first time in a long time. Where were they? Were they still alive? Dad was a strong man and home was always there, but how would they fair inside a prison camp? Bet by now, eating nothing but bread and water, they were just skeletons pressed to dig holes for others. An hour passed and Calvin had since cried himself to sleep.

Sun was setting off to the west. There was not much happening on this night. Rats had since retired his shattered division within the defenses of Muncie to reorganize and replenish. Similar forces were doing the same. Everyone was worn out to do anything.

Moving about the last pieces of his forces, the great leader retired to his room to take in a feast of turkey and a tray of molten lasagna before being briefed by his advisors over the days events. On this day, there was much good news.

"My leader, " spoke Flock, a pure white domesticate with a great mind, "Our armies have succeeded in capturing Atlanta and Los Angeles after fierce street fighting. Thousands of humans and dogs are now our prisoners"

Relaxing in his reclined seat, hand holding onto a vine of fine grapes, the other plucking one at a time to devour, Garfield listened, intrigued. "Thousands you say?" he asked Flock.

"Yes, sir. Thousands. Their so called army could not withstand the might of our army in California under General Rex. He has sent a message stating he will send to you tributes of his victory."

Savoring another grape, Garfield next turned to Advisor Tookie, a stray of small stature and not much sense. He gained his position due to being Flock's younger brother illegitimately. Reading from a piece of paper, his report already made for him, Tookie began to read, "we…have…."

Just two words and Garfield was suffering from a headache. Unable to read and write, let alone have proper diction, Flock snatched up the paper to read it himself.

"we have accumulated a substantial amount of captured supplies from all over the country as our armies continue their advance. Montreal is under siege by General Tyler and his militia of strays. He has already destroyed three enemy armies. Captured 2,000 dog prisoners, and enslaved 7,000 humans whom are now being put to work in cultivating the many farm lands under his control to feed his armies."

That being said, Garfield was worried that the farms he currently had was not enough to feed his army which was still growing. By their count, there was more than enough rations to feed them for over a year, but Garfield, being the glutton that he was, worried that it wouldn't be enough.

Removing himself from the table, Garfield marched up to the distant wall where a large map, similar to that he had outside, was plastered on. Instead of having his defenses, this map carried the great farm and ranches in the area. Marked in green were those under his control. All total, there was up to 6,000 acres of good land that grew food stuff or grazing land. It wasn't enough. Biting his lip, Garfield scanned high and low to see if there was anything else nearby that he could snatch up quickly before dogs could react. Indeed there was, a vast stretch of perfectly flat land that grew corn, of all things, owed by Farmer Brockenbrough. His 600 acres was situated to the north west of Muncie, just outside of the preplanned defense line. Garfield wanted it. Turning to his advisors, he pointed to the farmer and said, "I want it. Get it"

"Yes, sir" Flock snapped, departing the room in a jiffy, leaving Tookie alone with the great leader whom looked over this advisor of sorts.

"You look nervous, Tookie" Garfield said, walking casually towards a large window shrouded by a lavish curtain.

"I….um….I am, sir" he choked out.

"Don't be." Garfield laughed, "I'm a down to earth kind of guy" that was a lie, "relax. Come here and look at what I have to show you"

Nervously coming closer to the window, Garfield carefully unveiled it. Down below was a large red brick wall with large spikes on top. On each spike was a severed head. It was so grotesque that Tookie hurled in his mouth, trying to hold his composure. It was awful.

"You know whom they are?" Garfield hissed, "They are traitors, prisoners, and those that anger me. See to it that you are not one of them." looking out through the window, a large bonfire illuminated the row of heads each one was cat. "Traitors such as that Arlene and Nermal fellow. You see, young one, Arlene did not wish to join us. She had talent and brains and yet refused to see the real side of our power. She spat in my face when I offered her a chance and now, she rests, or her head rather, on the row of dissidents. Nermal on the other hand, spouted to being the world's cutest kitty cat, I was fed up with it. Being an accomplice to Arlene, he too was put to death in the same manner. Those others that you see" pointing out to a greater majority of the heads, "Those are galvanized cats. Soldiers or officers that decided to trade sides with the enemy and go follow them. We captured a great many in Indianapolis and this is their punishment, to be put on display for all to see. No one will dare misplace my trust, like that tiger we took. He will soon join his friends on that row."

Tookie's jowls were bulging with vomit. His entire dinner was coming back to haunt him. Heads, severed heads. How inhumane. What was this mad man thinking? Had he gone back to the days of old England? What was next, a new Tower of London? That was enough for him. Scrambling out of the room on his hands and knees, Tookie left Garfield to relish in his delight as the last bit of sun came down.

When darkness had completely consumed Indiana there was still much movement going on. A scout came running back to a group of officer to inform them what he had seen over the next hill. It was the Grays, still on the move.

"There is a road that cuts through a hill. To the right is a bridge just strong enough to hold up a tank"

With no prior knowledge of a Kitty Tank, Miller neglected that last bit and ordered up his company to prepare to cross the road. In standard infantry movement, they began to pass one by one, one man would watch the road as a second came up, nudge the first man whom, in turn, crossed the road under cover by the second. As the numbers dwindled down to a mere half dozen, the last man on the road gave a shout that someone was coming.

Hunkering down outside the cut, Sean pressed himself against the earth as best he could as the ground trembled underneath his feet. It was coming. Tanks. Kitty tanks. A column formation was snaking it's way towards the north east, part of Garfield's plans to take Brockenbrough's farm, only they did not know about it. For all they knew, it was a task force sent to deal with them. Commanders could be seen in their copulas looking about, in front, a heavy machine gun. Sharp in presence and in size, the tanks were becoming more and more of a match against the dogs. Additional and improved armor was slapped onto their hulls, and wider treads and engines allowed them to move across the soft terrain where before they could easily bog down in.

One by one, they came and went, passing right by the Grays whom were tightly holding onto one another, one for fear of falling and second for fear itself. Each time one would pass, Miller would count by moving his lips and it came to the point where it didn't matter. Over fifty. It was more than a patrol but a division movement. Somewhere had to be the infantry.

Last one came and went and to everyone surprise, no infantry materialized. Wanting to be off again, Miller urged his compatriots on while some were petrified, unable to be aroused. Coming across one such individual on the far side of the road, Miller asked what was wrong.

"we are all doomed. How can we face such power?" the person asked.

Unable to muster up the correct words to encourage a shattered comrade, Miller simply patted his shoulder and continued on with the hope he will sum of the courage himself and continue on. Taking a few steps on the soft grass that munched under his weight, Miller turned his head just enough to see the Gray out of the corner of his eye. He was still sitting there, knees tucked up to his chin, rifle cradled in one arm, muzzle near his head. Wasn't suicidal, just scared. What was he to do? Taking a moment to gather himself, the Gray looked up to see the many faces of his company looking at him. SIGH. Drew a deep breath then struggled to get up on his own two feet. When this was accomplished, he fell right in along side his comrades.

As they disappeared into the northern darkness, the two forces licked their wounds and counted their losses. Calvin was a prisoner, Hobbes was missing, as was Susie and Candance. Arlene and Nermal were long gone. For his victory, Garfield was bled. Up to 600 of his followers were killed, wounded, or prisoners themselves. To add further embarrassment to his cause, a large number decided to trade sides, cats going over to the side of humans and dogs. Those unwilling to leave their masters, those that had provided years of comfort and care was too much just to give up at the drop of a hat. Though he had lost a large number of his followers in previous battles, it was mere peanuts compared to those he has now….


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes. They are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson, respectfully. I do own Dilger, Captain Miller, and his Grays.

Garfield gripped the table tightly, his face was low and dirty. Haven't cleaned himself in some time, his eyes were cast on a large set of his defenses. Blue lines made of pencil showed where his forces were digging in and blocks of blue showed where new units were formed up and waiting to be placed. There was a lot. What a mess. To the north of Muncie, were several green tokens, representing partisan units under his control. Those that swore an oath of loyalty to the cats were now waging a war, an irregular war on others like them, such as Miller and his Grays whom were moving further north, undaunted about what they faced. Somewhere out there, Percy was on the prowl with orders to destroy him and his kind. It was only a matter of time before the two forces clashed in a pitched battle, but it wasn't going to happen yet. Instead, the next great battle, which would far outweigh anything previous, would go south.

"How many soldiers do we have in the south?" he asked lowly.

"Uh, about 65,000, sir," came a reply.

"How many does the enemy possess?"

"Not sure, but it's far less than what we have, including our tanks."

Nodding silently, Garfield again surveyed his map. Situation was growing critical. In other places across America, uprisings were meeting mixed conclusions. What was being gained in one place was being lost in another. The focal point was placed on him. Muncie was the cat capital and if it should fall, then the revolution will be squashed. He must attack. Do it now while the enemy is still weak. Hit him with all your might and it might just turn out differently. Do or die.

"Issue an order to General Rats, I am having him removed from his division and placed in full command of this attack. I want him to realize that everything is at stake at this. No one is to fall back on this. Either we conqour or die."

His staff was mystified over this, but they obeyed, summoning the dirty general from his post to the west and bringing him to the southern sector. Here, he was given a full table to show where his troops were, and his armor, and artillery. It was an impressive sight to see so many soldiers, but Rats was not out of touch for long and immediately called his officers into council.

"Everything is at stake," he said, "I don't have to tell you the consequences if we fail, for there will be none of us left. Attack and drive and keep driving until the enemy gone. No one is to fall back. If someone turns coward, shoot them."

As the night wore on, the Grays were still on the moving, so was Percy, Calvin sat in his dank cell, listening to the taps of his neighbors against the wall trying to keep in touch with one another. It was sweet sound to here, though he didn't understand what they were saying, it was their own little code. But, knowing that he wasn't alone, he rested his body against wall and listened as the taps went on like rain on the roof top. As for Rats, he was in a tight spot. Surrounded by all of his officers, he laid out his plan of attack, it would come in the daylight, rather unrepentantly with weather on his side. It was forecasted to have a heavy mist that will conceal their approach. There would be no artillery support until later on. His infantry would go out across no man's land in a giant wave fashion and overwhelm the dogs with sheer numbers. Many of his soldiers also lacked arms or ammunition, so if a soldier had a weapon, another would follow close behind. When that man was hit, the man behind would pick up his weapon and carry on. Rather like the Russians. Surprise was the key. Dogs were sure to be prepared. They were not stupid and they also had humans with them, which meant that they also knew how to fortify their positions with mines and machine guns. It would be a costly assault if it was screwed up, and he knew that many a brave cat would not come back from this. That night, when it was all over, General Rats tried to go to sleep at four in the morning knowing what the day will bring and he wasn't able to gain a wink.

His fellow felines in the trenches were not better off. Though their officers could not tell them what was happening, they sensed something was up when all of the officers were called back for a meeting. For some time now, they had dug holes and turned great ountry land into a virtual desert. No a soul dared to cross it. As they looked out across the field, a mist began to form in the early morning, they clung to their rifles tightly and waited as the minutes ticked by ever so slowly. For many, it was their first fight. Sergeants, veterans, were there to cheer them up. "It's not so bad," one said, "Just kept running and shoot at anything that moves." H- hour was ticking closer and closer. 0700, and the mist had turned the scenery an eerie pale gray. There was to be no chatter, calls, or yells.

When General Rats stepped out of the trenches, that would be the signal. It would be difficult under these circumstances, but this tough general was confident he could pull of a great counter stroke. Dogs on the other side were still completely oblivious to anything coming their way. Trenches were still being dug to protect themselves from enemy snipers and artillery. To the rear, vast amounts of supplies, mostly captured, were being stowed away inside buildings, abandoned by their tenements. New recruits were coming in, and there was Dilger in the midst, trying his best to keep everything organized. He was placed back in command of his defense company, or what was left of them. Of the original contingent, only seven were left unharmed. About six more replacements came in to bolster their ranks to 90 in number. As they waited for the day to begin, many were vast asleep, taking advantage of a rare lull from the enemy to sleep.

He stepped out onto the field and continued to walk forward. As he did, sergeants stepped out as well, followed closely by privates. This first group formed a arrow tip. As they advanced, the rest of the cats came out of their trenches to march forth. Rifles at the ready, bodies hunched forward, they went through the heavy mist. The distance between both lines in many cases was about 200 yards, yet it seemed like an eternity to cross for those new to fighting. There was not a shot fired at they finally closed in on their unsuspecting prey.

In the forward lines, the few dogs that were awake were dazed, numb from the siege. They could not hear anything up to this point, but the cats were creeping up at them. It wasn't at a run, but at a diliberate pace. One dog sat up in his hole and drew in a deep breath of clean air to fill his lungs. It was good day, he thought.

As he sat there, something up front caught his eye. It was a figure. A cat? Not sure. As he rose, his rifle was cocked and ready. Then, behind that figure came several more and his mind knew instantly what it was.

"Holy s…." a bullet cut his words off.

He fell face first into the dirt.

"Damn," Rats cursed. Someone had fired a shot, now they knew. "Charge!" he yelled spurting ahead. With a wild yell, his cats swarmed in from all sides. Roused from their sleep by the cries of wounded and whizzing of bullets, dogs came out of their dugouts to be confronted by a wave of enemy soldiers coming right for them.

Some panicked and fled, only to be shot down just as soon as they left their cover. Others cowered to be taken prisoner, still some resisted. In no time flat, Dilger came out to see his forward line be consumed. But this dog was not one to give up so easily. "Now we are going to have some fun," he told his aide as he went out to his main line where he could be seen bounding from place, exposing himself needlessly to enemy fire, he tried to get dogs and humans alike into his main line. Humans, were stunned to see talking animals, but they soon shook it off when Dilger kicked them in the seat of their pants to get them moving. Wounded needed to be removed, ammunition brought up, along with support if there was any chance in throwing the enemy back. As a wave of soldiers came through, shouting at the top of their lungs, throwing threats and taunts at the dogs, Dilger ordered his company to fire away. As the best trained unit in the Dog Army, the Defense Company held the center of the line in the minds of everyone that was there. When the company commenced fire, they swept away all those in the field. In just seconds, fifty cats lay dead or dying. But more and more came up, far more than Dilger could withstand. It wasn't a pretty sight. One here and one there would break away and run to the rear, but security would be there to catch them. Then, by Dilger's order, he began to move his forces back. He couldn't possibly hold them back with the numbers he had, and they had, he would be slaughtered.

Company by company began to abandon the line in good order, to a predestinated fall back point 300 meters to the south. Several large buildings, abandoned by their tenements, were being used by the dogs as a supply depot. It had to be defended. As the dogs pulled back, they began to dig frantically into the soft soil or forded up inside the houses. As they did, the cats busted into the main line with unbelievable fury. Hand to hand combat was everywhere as the last of the survivors retreated. Making sure everyone had gone, Dilger himself found himself caught up in the action. A cat jumped in and demanded his surrender, but was promptly shot in the face. Two come came over and shot his aide but were clubbed down soon after.

"Dilger, you must leave," his wounded aide said, laying on his back, shot through the belly. Having refused to be removed, the aide said he would cover the withdrawal.

Garfield's counter attack was producing fruit by the hour. Ground had been gained, and a break through of the enemies line had destroyed several units whole, including that new volunteer company. All that stood in their way now was Dilger's second line which was a stonewall to a tidal wave. Undaunted by the aspects of a quick death, the cats came forward without orders. They tasted victory, they tasted blood.

From afar, the light show was intense enough to be seen by Captain Miller. Sitting on a small knoll, they watched as the battle played out before them like theater. It was hard to tell what exactly was happening because of the mist, but they were nervous. What was happening out there? They felt helpless to do anything about it from here.

Dilger wished he could be there because a bullet hit above his head.

"Wow, that was close," he yelled as he went behind a building. Following him close was an entourage. All around them, soldiers were doing everything they could, in a state of haste and panic. Some dug, others jumped into windows, others just stood up and shot at shadows. Encouraged by officers, the dogs held on as General Rats finally rallied up his command sent them forward at last to clean up the last bit of resistance.

Shouting and yelling, cats of every shape and form came up, they hurled grenades and charged through their own explosions. Casualties didn't matter to them at all. Each yard was covered by dead and wounded. Despite having lost hundreds in one dash, the cats came in and clashed with the main line in feierce fighting that broke out amonst the buildings. There were six of them in a line fashion, three abreast then three behind with about ten feet in between. Segregating each building was a low stone wall about three feet high. When the two forces collided, broken fights occurred all around and somewhere in the middle of it, Dilger was trying to make a miracle. His losses were heavy and no reinforcements were promised

One house was owned by cats, the one next door, dogs, and they shot through windows at one another at point blank range. Through the streets, they brawled with their paws and teeth, gnawing at one another as bodies rolled over the slain bodies of comrades. Puddles of blood were as high as their ankles. More cats were coming, down the main street, in a professional manner. An officer was in the lead, a sword in hand. They were the first of Garfield's Regular army, professional soldiers. The officer was a proud fellow, brave, and smart, but he was ignorant to realize that the first target the dogs aimed at was that one officer.

"Get him!" Dilger shouted, pointing at him.

Dropping to one knee, quickly, a rifleman immediately let loose one shot, and that one officer collapsed to the ground with a thud. His followers hesitated at that instant, allowing dogs to deal more shot into their ranks that fell more, but officers behind prodded and pushed them into attack and they surged forward. Looking around for a safe place to retreat to, Dilger sighted a house that dogs currently occupied.

"Get to that house, quickly!" he ordered, grabbing and pulling soldiers out of line and sending them running to safety.

It was a close call, for the cats were swift, light on their feet, in chasing down Dilger's troops. Several soldiers stopped and fired their weapons to try and take down more of their foes, but they piled through the one wooden gate entrance of the compound and shut it behind them. An officer with Dilger climbed the steps towards the front door. Locked. "Figures," he muttered. By pounding on the door, a sergeant answered through an adjacent window, "What do you want?"

"Let us in," the officer roared.

"No, this is our place. Find your own," then he promptly closed the window for good.

Disgusted, the officer reported back to Dilger that there was no dice in gaining entry. "Then break the door down!" his CO roared back.

Small pockets were going at it at corners, alleyways, even roof tops. There was no line at all, just a mess. In order to rectify the situation, a pair of artillery pieces were wrestled for the cats and began to systematically belch canister fire into the tangled mass. Shot bounced off walls and shattered windows.

"What should we do?" someone yelled.

"Commit the armor!" Garfield bellowed, slamming his fist onto the table. It was back at the fat tabby's head quarters.

"Yes, sir," his aide saluted before scampering off.

At the assembly point, the crews of the Kitty tank battalion were waiting to go. The battle was there in front of them and they wanted to be the cavalry that arrives to achieve the great victory. Brainwashed with the belief that they were the greatest and their foe weak, cats of this force were hardheaded and ignorant to outsiders, even of their own kind. When word finally came down to begin their advance, their commander decided not too for reasons unclear. "I have time," he said from his turret, "The enemy is not going anywhere."

The aide exploded, berating the commander for his arrogance and threatened to shoot him if he didn't get moving. He even went so far as climb up onto the turret and point a pistol right at his head. That settled the argument.

This sort of disobedience was unheard of, but by then, it didn't matter. It was too late. Slowly, the cats found themselves being hit from all sides by small squads of dogs. Their foe was determined, attacking to the point of sheer recklessness, in total disregard to their own lives, they threw themselves at the felines with fury and actually began to beat them back towards the main line.

Fighting was still be waged inside the buildings, stubborn squads were still hiding out inside and needed to be flushed out, but Dilger did not want to miss a golden chance, and he sent the bulk of his soldiers to keep on the pressure. As they jumped into the holes, dogs would come running up right behind them and jump in, firing machine guns as they did. One Dalmatian set up a machine gun and cut down at least fifty of the enemy as they tried to flee back towards Muncie. Bravery wasn't all on the canine side. Private Salmon, found himself alone with a pouch full of grenades. When he noticed a large formation of dogs forming up to attack, he began to arm and heave the grenades at them as fast as he could. When they were used up, he picked up a Car15 rifle and fired off a full magazine before he was wounded and captured. General Rats was helpless to see his soldiers being slaughtered after the fighting in the supply depot. His flanks were unsupported and more and more enemy soldiers were being added into the fray. There was no control, just chaos. His aide was killed, and his couriers were captured in the retreat. None of his junior officers in a position to lay control, every cat for himself. And where was the General? He was at an outpost, observing.

Even some female cats decided to join in. Three such tabbies took control of a machine gun in a bunker after the crew were killed. With one feeding a constant flow of ammunition, and another sorting through the boxes for more, the third just laid it on thick against all that approached their position.

Sergeant Wilcox, a stray Dalmatian, seemed to draw a lot of attention from snipers and machine gunners alike, must have been his coat. No one wanted to be with him because of his streak of bad luck, so he found himself pinned down in a field in between the two lines, the advance one now overtaken by the cats, and the main line held by the dogs. They were shooting at one another, and anyone crossing this field was cut down. A few could be seen hunkering behind bodies or in some depression of soil, but they were spread out and scared too stiff to move. When the heat died off a bit, Wilcox decided to try and move to get a better look at this one machine gun. Inching forward and to the right, he came across a engineer with a satchel full of explosives. With glee, he took them, might be of use. When the shooting started up again, Wilcox lay flat on his belly, playing dead, when it stopped, he crawl forward.

It was now 1000 hours and the counter attack was stonewalled. Trying to gain on his success, Garfield was urging more and more of his followers to commit themselves. His tanks, that he sent at 0930 were still at their starting point. In his haste to launch a counter attack, Garfield neglected the fact that it had rained heavily the night before and now the fields were soaked. Tanks were too heavy to cross and a few became bogged down as they progressed forward. Still, they hurled shells and fired off their machine guns in support. Wilcox was still there as well. He inched close enough to this machine gun inside a earthen bunker, it was made by the dogs with a forward and backward firing slit made from lumber in case of an attack from the rear. Smart. When he felt confident to attack, he froze. All he had was a rifle, a handful of ammunition, and several blocks of c-4. For all he knew, there could be an entire company around this bunker. Thinking long and hard, a burst of fire went right over his head. Dropping onto his belly, Wilcox decided what his chances were. If he went forward, it could mean death. He looked back across the field that he ventured across, bodies were intermingle in hideous ways. Couldn't go back. Like so many others. Couldn't go. Rummaging through his satchel, he found several blasting caps and fuses. He didn't know how to arm a block or how much to use so he just guessed and prayed. When it was all done, the fire slackened once again and the Dalmatian went forward. Coming at an angle to the right, the cats inside could not see Wilcox's approach. A trench connected this bunker with similar ones down the line. To Wilcox's surprise, no one was in them. Climbing in, he looked left then right, not a soul around, just distant flickers of light coming from the muzzles of rifles and machine guns. The one close by fired again. Cautiously, he came forward towards the entrance, it was closed up.

"Better not waste the explosives," he thought, "might need them later. Just use the rifle, attack fast. How many could there be?"

With a solid kick, Wilcox busted in, surprising the three female cats whom were shocked to see him. They stared at one another for a brief moment, one was on the gun, the second feeding the ammo, and a third at hand with two boxes of it. Number two suddenly began to reach for a pistol and Wilcox fired his rifle. Caught in the hip, that one fell. Number one dove for a pile of empty boxes just as number 3 dropped hers and reached for a rifle. In a instant, both foes shot at one another and both were hit. Falling on his back in the entrance, Wilcox began to move himself back outside using his left leg all the while firing inside. The cat couldn't be seen from this vantage point, but as long as he kept shooting, she couldn't hit him. That cat was also firing blindly, bullets ripped apart the door frame. Once outside, Wilcox found his explosives, armed them and promptly threw it inside, "screw you!" he screamed before slamming the door shut.

There came from screams then a thunderous boom and the roof went skywards then collapsed on itself. Debris fell all over him and Wilcox temporarily lost consciousness.

What a mess. Several sergeants and a handful of privates were holed up inside one of the houses. Cats. They knew that their comrades had fallen back, thus trapping them behind enemy lines. They took up a vote whether to surrender or try and cut their way out. Seven wanted to give up, and eight wanted to make a run for it. They lined up, burst out the door and tore like hell across the field, jumping into holes or depressions whenever possible. Bullets nicked their heels and soared overhead. One had his ear clipped by one but surprisingly, they all made across the main trench towards the second trench. The main trench was all but lost at this point. The counter attack was only four hours old and it was used up but the cats tried again and again to solidify their gains. They had won some but lost many and it still wasn't over….


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield. They are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. I do, however, own every one else.

Garfield had launched a bold counter attack to the south of Muncie with the hopes of breaking the stalemate that had formed against the newly formed united dog army. From the start, it went off well, despite a early warning from a jumpy soldier. They still managed to push back the dogs under the leadership of Dilger up to his supply depot, but the attack fell apart and the dogs counter attacked, pushing the cats back all the way to the first line of trenches. Now, they waited until Garfield could move up his Kitty tanks to exploit the break.

By now, the two sides were hammering away at one another over the open ground. Dilger was doing his best to evacuate the immense amount of wounded that lay before him, and he was desperately short handed of stretcher bearers, doctors, and now soldiers. Units were mixed up, prisoners had to be dealt with, and supplies were needed. It was all too much. Twice, he collapsed from exhaustion but was helped up and refused to leave his post. The Shepard went up and down the line, encouraging and damning, defying the bullets that sailed past his ears.

"You were almost hit!" an aide cried

"Was I hit?" Dilger responded.

"No, sir"

"Then do not worry about it."

To the rear of the lines, the Kitty tanks were finally whipped into motion. Finding out before that the ground was soft, too soft for their weight crew members tried ingenious methods to get moving. Planks of wood were placed underneath treads or extensions of the treades themselves were added, making them wider and therefore spreading out their weight. Slow and painful as it was, the battalions gained ground and by 1100 hours, the first tanks were going over their own line right behind General Rats. Greatly relieved to see them at last, the General climbed up the turret to the first one, "Well it's about damn time you finally showed up!" He need to hit them now with all we have," he told his staff. "Don't worry about our flanks. Get your soldiers up and hit them in the belly as hard as you can. I'll get the tanks to support our advance you just worry about the cowards."

Climbing onboard that tank, the general began to direct where he wanted fire to be put so he could renew his counter attack. "I want fire there, there, there, and there." he yelled.

"What about that trench?" the commander asked.

"To hell with it. It's narrow enough for you to cross, I've been through it. Just get this bucket of bolts moving."

Staying around, bogged down in a shallow skirmish line was not good news for Garfield whom now was contemplating a withdraw. So many of his precious soldiers were lost. He wished to be alone in his map room where he grieved over the possible death throws of his cause. To add more thorns to his side, Rats attacked with such deliberation, and such speed, that several pockets of resistance were bypassed or ignored. Small squads, or even individuals, were working on the flanks and in no man's land. Even so, Rats wanted to attack again, immediately while his enemy was weak along with him.

Shells began to crash through Dilger's lines. 37mm guns had slow velocity but they were deadly to infantry when they did hit. The field was aglow with burning wood, buildings, and brush. No one wished to stomp them out, instead, the dogs hunkered down in their lines, waiting for the next attack.

Far away to the north, Calvin was sitting it out. Though he could hear the rumble of the guns, he could not watch the fight the could decide his fate. Next to him came a tap on the wall.

TAP TAP TAP TAP

TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP

One eyebrow was raised. What was that? It repeated itself soon after. Whomever it was on the other side was trying to communicate with him. He had no knowledge of Morse Code. But he tried. Before him, on his bunk, lay a tray with a metal spoon. Food wasn't much, swill. Taking up the spoon in his hand, Calvin placed his ear to the wall and tapped on the moist wall, gentle at first.

TAP TAP

There was a moment of silence

TAP TAP TAP TAP

TAP TAP TAP TAP

It must be a code, he thought so he repeated what this person was giving

TAP TAP TAP TAP

TAP TAP TAP TAP

It must have opened the flood gates for once Calvin did that, the person from the cell on the opposite side began to tap to communicate and others began to tap. He was not alone and his heart filled with happiness from a long time.

He was, but those in the field were caught in a dilemma. They saw the tanks come up and pummel Dilger's lines and it looked like they would be swept aside once again like this morning. One of the groups that was bypassed was a group of six dogs from mixed units, one was from Dilger's original command. They were stuck behind a small knoll, trying to stay out of sight to avoid the fire power going over their heads. A sergeant was in command of them, and he was encouraging the weak minded to stay true to their comrades, do not give up or give in. Shells were going off in concert. Tanks were lined up behind the trench hub to hub slamming shells and belching fire as quickly as possible. If an individual could be singled out through the haze, often a dozen would fire onto it and keep firing until the target was no longer visible. When none was to be had, gunners took a rough estimate on the range and fired with their comrades flanking them firing off one after the other in a steady rythum. Rats was worried. So many shells were obliterating the earth, generating smoke, dust, and debris, that they could no longer see where shells were landing and ordered the fire to slacken off a bit so the haze could lift, but the gunners ignored his order and continued to fire with unrelenting vigor.

The dogs had nothing to combat such an onslaught with. All of their heavy weapons were to the rear, far out of range, useless. Soldiers just had to lay low, hug the ground as much as possible, and deal with it as the barrage went on for thirty grueling minutes, then, it stopped and the tanks could be heard rolling forward with rumble that of a buffalo stampede.

Venturing out into the vacant land, the attack was on once again. No one challenged them this time except for their left flank. That one group of dogs that was overlooked, they counted themselves as lucky for they managed to scrounge up two old Bazookas, M-9 collapsible versions, a handful of rockets, grenades, and rifles and submachine guns between them.

As they crossed over their lines, the tanks let loose one more volley that sent mountains of dirt and debris high into the air as the lumbering beasts crawled forward through the soft terrain, machine guns chattering and cannons booming. Infantry clambered out of their holes and advanced behind the tanks as rounds sent by the dogs nicked and dinged off the tanks armor.

The sergeant was amazed to see the tanks go by in a near perfect line formation. Perfect discipline, but what also caught his eye was to see their sides, vulnerable sides. The group found themselves at the very flank of the enemy, in a position to cause great damage and confusion if they act upon it. Exposed to his rocket launchers, and the infantry were oblivious to his presence the cats were asking for a beating . Ordering his two weapons up on to a line, the sergeant told them to aim for the engine compartment, right below the commander's copula. Flanked by riflemen, the team steadied themselves and waited as the tanks went by, then the sergeant gave the order and the bazookas roared.

WOOOSH

WOOOSH

BAM!

BAM!

Two direct hits in rapid succession. Flames engulfed two of the tanks as they came to a halt. Crewmembers began to bail out through hatches and the riflemen began to pick them off. By now, the cats were aware of being flanked and the infantry turned to meet them. As the gunners reloaded, the sergeant tried to have the supporting infantry pinned down as more tanks presented themselves. Through the growing inky blackness created by the burning of gasoline, the cats did not use diesel engines, two more tanks were turning left to deal with them.

"Hurry up!" the sergeant yelled, "They are coming!"

Looking down the sight of his carbine, he zeroed in on a orange cat, a young calico of sorts laying on his belly looking about aimlessly, as if lost or disoriented. One squeeze of the trigger, and the cat's head dropped. One down. He then switched towards two others that were taking a knee close by and firing at him. Their bullets were going high over head. Must be green soldiers, unaccustomed to the recoil of their weapons. The sergeant took his time, gathered up the head of one target in his sight and fired one, dropped him, then the second soon after. Easy. A burst of machine gun fire from a tank caused him to drop down behind the knoll, cursing, almost hit.

One gunner came up and found his target had moved to within 100 yards of them, machine gun sending lead in their direction. Hiding behind the rise to avoid the fire, they had to wait several seconds before the gunner braved the cats to fire off a round. It went straight and true, striking the front plate where the shape charge burned white hot, melting metal and flesh. The compartment began to burn and the crew bailed out where they were shot down before getting too far.

Even with the group causing havoc on the left, most of Rat's soldiers and tanks crossed the field and found that the front line of the dogs was manned only by wounded too far gone to be evacuated. They fired off a few rounds of machine guns before being killed. Where did they all go?

Dilger decided that it was futile to hold such a position with his numbers, so he withdrew his command south, past his supply depot. What could not be carried was torched to prevent its capture. To further complicate his plans, there was no time to lay down mines, though there were many in stock or dig antitank ditches, trenches wide and deep enough to prevent a Kitty tank from cross. What the German Shepard planned on was a type of guerilla war unseen by the cats. Small squads armed with grenades and mines waited for the tanks to come close and ambush them. Since there was no time to arm and bury there disc mines, soldiers armed them with tilt rods, about a foot lone rod attached to the mine, when pushed just a half a degree, the mine would explode. It was a stiff fuse, so it wouldn't go off from wind or when thrown so they literally hurled them at incoming tanks like Frisbees. Smoldering wrecks marked where they had struck along the trails, avenues of approach. Infantry support was lagging behind, exhausted and eyeing delicacies the dogs had left behind, some had paused to feast on meats, cheese, and play with toys, leaving tanks exposed. Just south of the depot, seven tanks were burning with the bodies of their crew dangling out of their hatches. This was just one of the many ambushes that was successfully pulled off and General Rats was in a tirade, whipping slackers into line. Officers were also ones falling away at the wayside. Those that refused to get back were simply shot.

Once an ambush occurred, cats would plaster the area with shell and rifle fire, flushing out the dogs. The advance would resume for about 100 yards and would repeat itself. Casualties on both sides were heavy.

Rat's was adding more and more pressure against Dilger as his troops went further south, unrelenting. "Don't give them a chance to breath!" he told his officers.

They were not. Clashes were frequent, bloody, and moving. To add further havoc, Garfield also committed a squadron of his aircraft to give support to the tanks. It was rather late, but when those flying boxes soared overhead, dogs began to grow unnerved. Soon, strafing runs then salvos or rockets and hails of bombs were falling ambush sights. However, the dogs were not entirely unsuccessful. In their progress. Fed up of taking such an onslaught, Private Oscar Deveraux, one of the few humans serving in the ranks, took up a captured enemy machine gun, held it in his hands and began to spray the air as the aircraft began to break off into attack formation. Tracer rounds marked where his fire was going, he carefully led his target and fired burst after burst. This small man, no more than 5" 6', stood in a plowed field while the two sides were pitted against one another. Without worry he reloaded and continued to fire as bullets nipped his clothes and shot off his hat. Finally, he saw one Kitty plane coming out of a dive. Banking to the north, it exposed it's vulnerable underbelly and Oscar fired a burst. A trail of white smoke plumed from the craft as it drifted away. Seconds later, it exploded in a giant orange flash.

Other luck came from behind. Some units were bypassed and managed to work on the enemy rear, such as that anti tank squad whom attached themselves to stragglers and walking wounded. Getting out of No man's land, the sergeant directed them to a path of hedges to conceal themselves in the south so they could get oriented. Being behind enemy lines made many privates and raw recruits scared. Cut off from the rest of their units, debates raged on what to do, fight their way out or surrender to the next cat they saw. Sergeant would have none of it. "We're getting out of here," he told them, "Even if I have to drag you all over the country side."

As they waited, a sentry spotted a large group of cats coming down from the north. It was a fresh batch of soldiers coming to exploit the breach. They had rifles, pouches of grenades, even machine guns, and mines. "Great," the sergeant muttered, "We can't run and we certainly cannot win a fight against them."

Going down his line, the sergeant came across a wounded Dalmation that had join up as they were leaving the field. He remembered the incident well. The squad was moving up to the depot, aflame, to see if there was anything left of value when a call came out from behind them, "Hey! Hey! Don't leave me out here!" Looking back, the sergeant found this dog crawling across the field using his two fore legs. Darn creature was wounded. Picking him up, the unknown dogs gave his name, "Sergeant Wilcox, I was taking out a bunker over there and those pesky cats tried to use me for target practice." He was game still despite his wounds. After a quick application of bandages, the squad was off towards the sounds of battle. Now they lay there, beside a road, elevated only by a few inches witha shallow drainage ditch on both sides. It was paved, but needed work. Large crackes and pits proved it had been put down years ago. No one said a word as they caught sight of their target moving parallel to them. Judging from the way they marched, four abreast with several in depth, rifles at the shoulder ready with file closers on the flanks,marching in a steadytempo, these were regulars not recruits. So close in fact that they could see the pupils of their eyes. Two trucks in the rear were holding officers, sitting up triumphantly in their seats were being selected by the antitank gunners while rifle men singled out targets of their own.

"Give them hell!" the sergeant screamed. Cats turned to where the voice came from and were slapped in the face by hot lead.

WOOSH

BAM

WOOSH

BAM

Both trucks burst into flames and animals tumbled over board completely engulfed. Stunned at first, the first ranks of the column were cut down by the dog fire while those behind began to step backwards, firing in return, blindly. Reloaded, the bazookas fired again:

WOOSH

WOOSH

Their aim were clusters of soldiers that were seeking to hide behind the disabled vehicles. Gaining the upper hand, the sergeant rose up and sprayed the road with his captured Mp-5 and charged forward with a howl. Closely following him was the remainder of his squad. Flushed with victory, they jeered, yelled, screamed as they hurled grenades and fired from the hip. Routed, the cats fled north in the area in which they came. For a while, perhaps a half mile, the dogs gave pursuit, shooting and stabbing wounded and any whom tried to surrender. This was a war of no mercy was asked or given. For all their efforts, the dogs did not receive one casualty while the road they battled over was paved with enemy dead.

Regrouping at the ambush sight, the head sergeant looked at his ad hoc squad with delight. They were not familiar with one another, yet acted as a well oiled machine. He was impressed by their abilities, courage, and determination.

"I say we go on to Muncie!" Wilcox shouted. Everyone laughed.

"We need to help out our comrades, the sergeant replied, "they need us."

They rummaged through the enemy dead and found mines which they used to block the road before going off to the south in the hopes of finding their units. Along the way, they found disabled tanks, dead and dying from both sides. In their hearts, they felt remorse, regret, and hatred. Most did not understand what this war was all about. Dogs had their place and so did the cats, now that balance was disturbed, by whom was the question.

"You've seen enough of this war?" Wilcox asked the sergeant.

"Yes I have," he replied, "And only the dead have really seen the end."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Garfield and Calvin and Hobbes.  
They are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson respectfully. I do, however, own Dilger, Miller and his Grays.

News up to now was good, very good indeed. General Rats was proving to be a valuable counterpart. He led his division forward in a sweeping attack that had driven back those wretched dogs away from his beloved town, thus, preserving their hold for now. High above, kitty jets screamed highly as they roared off from their airstrip towards the south in search of targets and to aid the advance. Only one of their number had been lost, from ground fire. Other than that, the jocks were having the time of their lives in strafing and bombing the retreating units of Dilger's command whom were utterly helpless to combat them. One even remarked that they looked like little cockroaches down there and they were the exterminators to cleanse the earth of their dirty touch. That job fell to the ground crunchers, regular infantry, whom were hitching rides on passing trucks and tanks in order to keep up. Some even joked that the enemy was retreating faster than they could advance. In order to combat the ambushes that small units were thwarting the drive, aircraft, under ground control, would bomb and strafe the area, then tanks raked it with machine gun and cannon fire. Infantry would then enter to clean up any survivors, usually, there was none.

There was little fight, it seems, left in the dogs the further they drove them back. The ambushes were becoming ill frequent, the routine was proving effective. When one ambush did occur, it was often brief but bloody. A tank rolled with infantry on top, hitching a ride. Molotov cocktails were often used, and the dogs aimed for the open commander's hatch. When one smashed and ignited inside the compartment, riflemen concealed in the countryside, opened up as the crewmen and infantry bailed out. A second tank would come up and pepper the area with machine gun fire. That was enough for the dogs to break off. Anyone too slow or wounded was left behind for dead, it was a sad fact of life.

Despite the growing losses, Dilger encouraged these brave units to do their best in order to stave off the cats advance so he could organize his command for a proper defense. Demolition squads were blowing down trees, creating an abatis, a makeshift barricade or tearing down bridges whenever possible, it bought minutes. Just down the road, Dilger was swamped by all the stragglers, wounded, and cowards whom were struggling to get by in order to preserve their lives. There was little command and control, obliviously, wounded were trampled underneath the weight of others, equipment was abandoned, their was no hope.

"Sir," said one of his aides to a sullen Dilger, "There is little for you to do here. There is a truck close by waiting to take you back to Indianapolis."

"No," Dilger refused, "I will not abandon my troops. There is a way, there always is. Send a message for anyone with a vehicle to bring them up as soon as possible. Anything, trucks, cars, pintos, anything with wheels and an engine."

Jotting it down, the aide nodded in agreement and jumped off, pushed his way through the crowds in the road and made his way towards the truck. Moments later, they drove off. Dilger watched them as they disappeared then he turned his attention back towards the north as the pops of another ambush marked just how close he was.

A tray was slammed into the room, Calvin looked at it to what dim light their was from the feed tray hole. Mush, again. A box of milk this time though, and mush.

"What do they think I am?" he baulked before taking a sip, "A child?" sip.

Tap tap, tap tap

Tap tap, tap tap tap

Oh, the person in the next cell. Taking up his spoon, Calvin sat next to the wall and tapped the same in return.

A series of taps came the response. Earlier, Calvin had asked if there was any information about his friend, Hobbes.

"No"

"Damn" he cursed, sipping his drink. He wasn't going to touch the mush, just the calcium, that is what he needed. So, Hobbes was gone, perhaps forever. Still, he continued to tap back with the other cell mates to keep their spirits up.

There were thoughts of escape up to that time and everyone wanted to take part in it. But how? As Calvin listened intently, the people in the other cells tapped away their plan. It was daring and rather simple. Beginning the next morning, they were to be removed from their cells to begin work on a project of unknown origins. The guards were rather few, it was thought, and they could over power them with the numbers on hand. If their were retraints involved, one was fashioning a makeshift key to free them. Sounded good, Calvin volunteered as did fifteen others. It was settled, tomorrow, they were breaking out.

An hour had passed. At a gallop, Dilger's aide returned with some good news, the first in awhile. Since then, they had withdrew another mile further down the road and thirty of their number, mostly wounded, were left behind and subsequently captured by the cats. Their fate was unknown.

Holding up the message as he pushed his way through the throng, the aide approached a rather statue commander, sitting on a fence at the way side, watching as his beaten command limped by. Their eyes, those of the soldiers, and those of the commander never met, he kept his gaze on the enemy coming ever closer.

"Sir. Sir," the aide shouted, waving the letter, "I have news."

"What is it?" he growled.

"Sir, they are coming," coming up to his side.

"I think you are rather late for that," Dilger teased.

"No, sir, trucks. Several good humans have offered their semi trucks to transport us."

His eyes turned wide then fell on the little pup. He took up the letter and read it himself. Reading it, eyes only, it was true. Seven semis were on their way, in fact, they were already here. Their giant engines roared as they pulled up and came to a stop.

"Hop on!" the driver exclaimed to the excitement of the soldiers whom clammered into the trailers. They were sardines crammed inside, but there was enough for the majority of the command to be moved several miles down the road, to where was yet to be determined. The last to climb onboard was Dilger whom sat in the passenger seat of the lead truck.

"Where are you heading?" the man with a giant gurth covered with a flannel shirt, light beard, and red baseball cap asked calmly.

"That way" the commander pointed.

Lumbering off, a detachment of wounded took position across the road to lay yet another ambush while up above, three aircraft circled about like buzzards. They could see the trucks and began to go into an attack.

Gunning the engines, the drivers put the petal to the metal to gain speed as the aircraft pounced on them. Guns firing, they scored several hits on two of the trucks and there were casualties. With the trailer doors open, the dogs fired back with their small arms. It was pitiful but it was better than sitting their enduring it. The planes quickly circled about and came on again, this time they dropped three bombs. As they pulled up, the number 3 plane rocked violently. Lieutenant Gulf looked over his shoulder to see his number 1 engine aflame. Damn. He broke formation and returned to base where he crash landed. The airfield was temporarily out of action for now. That would change once the second one was completed.

The bombs he and others dropped all missed their targets. Aside from rocking the trucks and the panic of tipping over, the dogs were unaffected. The other two planes broke off their attack, out of fuel, leaving the dogs to fall back.

To where now became apparent. Reading a map, Dilger found that there was an irrigation ditch close by. The cats had crossed that before on their conquest towards the capital, now it lay dormant.

"Take us there," he told the driver, pointing to a mere line on the map.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, we won't go any further."

When the ditch came up, the drivers pulled off the road. When they stopped, the dogs jumped out.

"Hurry up! Move." officers shouted, pushing and kicking the back sides of soldiers. To where? Into the ditch they cried. Are they nuts? Perhaps. Get in. The ditch was empty, bone dry. Many were parched of thirst and sought to quench themselves by going towards other irrigation ditches, only to come up empty.

Soldiers lined up, dressing their ranks, getting themselves organized. Machine guns were placed to cover the flanks, ammunition was distributed, and the wounded or those to ill to carry on were loaded back onboard the trucks as they drove off towards the capital, promising to return with supplies and more troops.

As they milled about in their hole, Dilger stood behind them. His voice was hoarse, but he mustered up enough to speak loudly, "Dogs! Fellow soldiers. This is the last line. We will not go back any further! We will not be pushed about by tick covered felines. If we fall, we fall here than retreat any further!"

A joyous roar broke out, "Not one step back."

At the same time the dogs were rallying, Garfield was in recession. He still had not removed himself from the confines of his war room.

"My leader, we are still working on your weapons. Scientists have just completed the warheads and the bodies are almost finished as well."

Still unsatisfied, Garfield sighed and slumped backwards into his seat. Messengers came and went with news of Rats counter attack. It was ticking towards dusk and he had progressed over seven miles beyond enemy lines. It was a great day, a time to dine and celebrate, and yet, the leader refused to even drink water. When a message arrived from the general, asking for additional reinforcements to tie up his flanks and request permission to halt and dig in for the night, he did not send out a reply. No additional troops were ordered out to assist. Rats had only 20,000 soldiers and two battalions of kitty tanks encountering stiffer opposition. Twenty five of his tanks were smoldering at the way side, crew members slain as they attempted escape lay suspended from their hatches.

"My leader," he continued, "They are also working on your second project. They are working faster than any other group."

Rapping his fingers on the table, Garfield sighed as he remembered what his second project was. It was rather silly, science fiction, but he threatened to shoot the scientists if they did not finish it soon.

"Tell those fools, the portal must be open by tomorrow," he commanded.

"Tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes. Tomorrow"

"sir, they just commenced with the project today. They cannot…"

"I said tomorrow!" slamming his fist onto the table.

Garfield was fuming mad, his tanks were just fuming smoke and flame. One of them lay smouldering on the road. Wilcox was on point of his squad. He approached the tank with fear. It looked like a giant hammer had hit it, front end smashed and scorched. When close enough, he reached out and touch the back end, the engine compartment, it was hot to the touch. Moving towards its bow at a crouch position, Wilcox could now see down the road. Off in the far distance was a cluster of cats, standing on the road, all looking to the south, unaware. If they were close, their hundreds of comrades had to be as well. Convinced the way was blocked, Wilcox returned to the sergeant to notify him of the news.

"Damn", the sergeant cursed, "We cant go around them we might as well wait  
here."

His followers looked at him puzzled. We cant break through this line. We will have to wait till dark before we can make another attempt to get back to Dilger.

Groans began to rumble. It was hot and there was no water. Close by were three dogs, cut down in a retreat.

"I bet they have water", said one private, dehydrated, tongue dangling from his open mouth.

"Don't even think it", the sergeant growled thinking the same thing.

"We need water, perhaps they have some food on them as well", Wilcox nudged at his side.

He gave in. Crawling on his knees and elbows, Wilcox scurried out. He ignored the notion that a sniper was out there, possibly taking a bead on him. Didnt matter. He made it to the bodies and found one canteen rather quickly. Holding it in his hand, he felt the warm liquid draining through his fingers. Damn, it was punctured. Crawling over to the next one, it was empty as well and there was no food in his haversack. A cat must have be  
here. One left, this time there was half a bottle full left. Better than nothing. With a smile, the Dalmatian returned with his booty. The squad was rather upset to the fact that it could have been more, but they split up what little there was between them and flaked out and waited as the war went on with out them.

This is bad, Dilger moaned as he looked at his line. It was not the best in the world and he was fearful that this would be the last battle. Even wounded were put into place. If they could carry a rifle, they could fight. What ever thought he had, the German Shepard kept it to himself. Fear was contagious in the battlefield. One hint of fear and the ranks could break.

Sitting down in a pile of dirt, the commander looked at what was in front of him. A field separated his irrigation ditch and a pair of rolling hills just beyond. This place was good. The vegetation here was green and abloom. Must have been feed plenty of water from the farmer. Where he sat now must have been a corn field, judging from the kernels some were picking up and eating raw. The semis were empty now and were sent back to the rear with the many wounded and told to bring up rations and above all ammunition. There was precious little left. A general lack of any heavy weapons besides a few bazookas and machine guns gave a sense of dread.

Stretched out in a long thin line, with perhaps one soldier for every five feet, Dilger waited as the first tanks rumbled up. Undetected, the dogs waited as they drew closer. Next came the infantry directly behind.

Officers were heard shouting above the roar of the engines to dress the lines. Units were jumbled up in the move and they sought to clean it up. There was no hurry or excitement in their voices. They tasted victory. To everyone's surprise, the cats stopped right before the entrenchment. Tanks were parked and crews came out, soldiers were on parade, in formation with rifles slung over their shoulders. Scouts and a few patrols were sent out  
to make contact and the dogs were waiting. What few antitank weapons there were on hand were taking aim at their targets. Some mines were there as well.

A sheet of flame and the cats tumbled back in horror.

Just as quickly as the cats redressed their line, it came apart. Some sought shelter behind the tanks as the crews brought their guns into play.

BOOM

BOOM

The 37mm cracked again and again. Their aim was the muzzle flashes of the rifles. Dogs were well concealed behind the growth. They merely dropped down into the ditch and avoided the heavy return fire. Cats could not do that. One fell over there as he attempted to run towards a tank. Another turned coward and tried to flee, but was gunned down by a security officer.

The dogs aim was pure. Three tanks were struck and burning with intense heat. Even 500 feet away, Rats claimed to feel the heat as the ammunition began to be set off.

Take your battalion and attempt to flank them, Rats ordered the jittery officer whom relented in his request to move back towards the hills.

Were going to be alone out there, sir, replied Captain Hawkings

Do it! I have spoken. We will give you support. he turned to another battalion commander and gave him the same order to march on the other flank. This pincer movement, it was hoped, would punch through the line, isolate this strong point and overwhelm it. What tanks were left went into action. Moving parallel to their enemy, tankers concealed the soldiers as they began to move. Firing white phosphorous shells, the battalion moved towards their staging area. It was an ad hoc movement, just keep going. Some were not even part of the original battalion, they just moved where everyone else did. It was fear and panic on a grand scale. Private Du Mont, an alias from his real name, Spot, was hiding behind a knocked out tank when the call came to move out. Looking around, he saw officers sprinting off, grabbing the shoulders and arms of those laying prone to avoid the enemy fire, berating them to get moving or be killed. It was only natural that soldiers bunch up in battle. There were seven others with him, hiding when an officer came and yelled to follow him. This they did. Running right behind the officer, Du Mont kept his head down as bullets whizzed right past his head. So much so that he looked down and stared at the floor. All he could see was his feet which felt like jelly. Suddenly, there was a great wind that picked him up and hurled him directly over the officer in front of him. His world went blank. When he awoke some time later, a medic was there applying bandages to his back and hip.

What happened? he asked him.

"You beat the captain in the race", the medic joked.

When the battalion was ready, the captain looked over to see what his soldiers would be facing against and did not like it. A solid line of green with sharp points of dogs battling it out. This was not going to be like before, he thought. They were not going to flee. There was one radio that was still working and he put in a request for air support. Hopes were high that those jocks would put a few bombs down the gullet, but to their horror, the planes could not be raised and they soon disappeared back towards the north, out of fuel. Damn. There were still tanks though, and they were chattering away at anything that moved.  
WOOSH

BAM!

Another one went up in flames. The crew never had a chance.

Damn, could not stay here any longer. Either attack or retreat. The place was open and they were taking fire, accurate at that. An officer at Captain Hawkings side was shot through the head. Never giving a whimper, he just slumped forward into the soil. Alright then. Jumping up to his feet, Hawkings sprinted towards the nearest tank and ordered him to charge for the foliage.

"Are you nuts?" the tank commander shouted.

"Do it! Keep firing. Well be right behind you," Hawkings yelled, red in the face.

The commander was still reluctant to do so. It was certain death to go forward, but he did it. Speaking into his radio set, the tank lumbered forward with two others closely behind. Behind this wall of steel, the infantry came up, using the tanks as shields. They made up, closer and closer, 100 yards then 50 when a tank was hit directly and exploded with a giant ball of yellow and red flame. Fragments tore into Hawkings face, neck, and chest. He went down severely wounded and the attack was stalled. His radio man was also killed. The cats retreated, but the tanks kept going forward, oblivious to the fact that their support was gone. In rapid succession, these last two were destroyed and every crew member killed.

Over to the right, there was no luck at all. Their attack never materialized. Soldiers were laying prone, avoiding the fire, and not one was firing back. Why? No officers. Every single one was dead and sergeants were trying to keep everything going. Seeing them, General Rats descended down and personally ordered the highest ranking cat he could find to get it going.

"I can't" the sergeant whined, "They refused to budge."

"If you don't get this going, I will personally shoot you." producing a pistol.

Gulping hard, the sergeant turned and gathered up all of the other sergeants. Together, they rallied the soldiers to get them going and finally got under way and were promptly shattered. Seven times this battalion surged forward in a wild melee. Yelling an awful scream, firing wildly without support, they were easily gunned down every time they came up and never once would the cats so much as touch the enemy lines. Seven times they came up and were thrown back as many times, each time, they inched closer, but after the seventh time, there were too few left to carry the line and they hunkered down, using the bodies of their slain, laying up to three deep in some areas, for cover and to await night fall before withdrawing. Seeing his foe being cut down by a giant scythe, Dilger begged for a chance to launch a counter attack. He prayed, crossed his fingers, and hopped, skipped, and jumped around inside the line for a chance to hit them back.

Rats was thinking the same thing. Just a chance to hit them back. "Just one more", he thought, "and we can break that line". For him, it was put into motion with the last five functioning tanks he had. He watched them from a knoll from afar as his soldiers went in. Cannons booms and machine guns chattered as the line surged forward with remarkable beauty and precision. Officers did their job in ushering their soldiers on, dressing their lines, sergeants kept the ranks from breaking, and the tanks shattered enemy strong points with their 37mm guns. Dense smoke from burning grass shrouded them 200 yards shy of the enemy lines, and it was there that Rats lost visual contact. None of them carried hand radios. All he could do now was wait and pray all the while, medical personnel, completely overwhelmed, were removing the immense amount of wounded to be taken back to Muncie.

Five thunderous booms shook the country side one after the other. Good lord! What happened? Five funeral pyres, generating enough heat that it illuminated through the smoke. Where were the troops? Gone like the wind. They were swallowed up whole in the abyss of battle. Sad. So sad. Several of the staff began to weep at the injustice of it all. So many a good cat were put to waste. Allies lay dead or dying all around them and despite the promise of victory, there was none to be had. It was all in vain.

Fighting to hold back his own tears, Rats turned to his staff, issue an order for a withdrawal. Were going back. he staggered onto his aching paws on .

"Where to, sir?" one of them asked.

After a brief pause, Back to Muncie. he said quietly before lumbering off down the north slope of the hill.

Signals and verbal orders were given over the din for the withdrawal. Wounded, those able to walk did so, those too severe were stowed onboard vehicles, crammed like sardines, and the dead were left where they fell.

Rats corps was horribly shaken but they were still alive for the most part. There was some dismal about being forced to go back into the trenches. Still, they had won themselves some small sense of victory in driving back those wretched dogs. For their blood, they must have inflicted thousands of casualties, numbers that would take weeks or months to replace. Once more, their great leader was taking in more followers and it was only a matter of time before another counter offensive would take place and thus end this siege. Flanked by the harsh fields and the scorching sun from above, the cats marched, or lumbered forth. The hard surface road was terrible on their raw padded feet. When trucks were available, hundreds climbed onboard to hitch a ride back, but most were stuck to walking. Rations were unavailable. Having gone for a full day without food or water, many also rummaged through the kits of slain comrades or dogs to quench their hunger and thirst.

Marching past the burnt out depot, heaps of bodies lay about, frozen in place by rigamortis, some with limbs stretching for the sky. Ghastly sight that many closed their eyes or turned away to avoid but they could not avoid the sharp smell of burning flesh and hair. Their only sense of haste was to get clear of the mess, other than that, the cats pace was real crawl. Casual walk and trot on the road, some even fell out to rest in the shade of trees to remove thorns from their paws. The rear guard was moving back slowly, but the dogs seemed to lack the will power to attack. Why? They have suffered as well. Dilger, though survived this battle, he was battered almost to death. His command was on the verge of total collapse. Losses were heavy and they had held on only by their finger nails. It must have been luck of Gods good grace. A few patrols were sent out and found only dead cats to their front. What cohesion remained was used to organize a proper defense, wounded were removed, and supplies brought up. Everything was a mess because of the surprise of the attack. Much of their equipment was lost, medicine, ammunition, and weapons. It would be hard to have these replaced.

"What do you see?" Miller asked.

Propped on a fat rock, looking through a set of binoculars, Private Hays of the Grays took a glance of what looked like a giant slung moving towards town at a snail's pace.

"I think it's a slug" he remarked, removing the piece from his eyes. They were far away to the north but could see the dim fires of the tanks to the south.

Taking a look for himself, Miller was surprised to see it.

"What do you think it is?" Hays asked his commander.

"That, my friend, is the great feline race," Miller replied with a smile. Hays smiled back and continued to watch them. If he looked harder, perhaps he could see Dilger as he tried to be everywhere at once, the great German Shepard tried to clean up the bloody mess that was the army. Those semi trucks had kept their word and returned to the trench over loaded with supplies and other necessities, including tables, medicine, lights, and tools to set up two field stations to care for the wounded. However, there were only four vets and a handful of volunteers challenged by 2,000 wounded, counting the enemy wounded that were left behind. Luckily, they were also given several quarts of whiskey. A nip every hour was enough to keep them awake as they removed bullets, covered burns, and stitched cuts. Food was available, not a feast, but enough to savor their appetite for the night. Some beef and fish and water. Fires began to pop up despite the order for a black out. The smell of cooking meat filled the air as the soldiers grouped up to share what they had, to tell stories, and to have a shoulder to lean on. So many were lost this day, friends and family. From the country side came the song, "Home Sweet Home" as they thought about a place of safe haven, solace from this nightmare.

Outside the trench, the wounded and dead cats were helpless. Many thought that patrols would come along and kill them out of revenge. Beating them to the punch, some tok their own lines rather than be taken prisoner. Tanks, brewing up, began to explode as their ammunition ignited, sending up a shower of metal and flame, illuminating those trying to crawl away back towards home. Others could not take it. Either unwilling to die by their own hand or unable to, they begged their foe to do it.

"For gods sake man, kill me and end my misery", one screamed to a passing dog.

For some reason, despite the hatred he had for the cats, and the killing that he had done all day, the dog could not do it. He couldn't pull the trigger. Relaxing, he went back to his line and came back with a blanket, wrapped up the cat in it, and carried him back to a vet to care for him. Along the way, he died.

One of the last actions to take place came when the sergeant, Wilcox and the squad came up from the north. The first officer they met was Dilger whom was less than thrilled to see them.

"Where in the hell have you been!" he screamed, "Were all of you frolicking in the flowers?"

Tired, hungry, raw, and at his wits end, the sergeant replied, With all due respect, sir..blow it out your ass".

When night finally put an end to the mayhem, the dogs had not moved a single inch from their lines. Instead, they hunkered down, licked their wounds, and prepared to try again to cat on Garfield and his followers….


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Garfield or Calvin and Hobbes. They are owned by Jim Davis and Bill Watterson respectfully.

Guards were everywhere, armed, and eyes sharp. Escape was next to impossible. Hammers pounded away against a sea of rocks following the mournful songs of the gang as they tried to alleviate the pain and torment from a blistering hot sun. Wiping his brow again, Calvin stared through the sting of sweat in his eyes to see a pill box that was newly created by his own hands. It was made of earth, encased in concrete, and timber with foliage for concealment. Inside were three machine guns, two of which were pointed at them. Guards inside were well off, an air conditioner was constantly feeding them cool air and a refrigerator stuffed full of treats and drink. This patch of earthen they had worked on now for only a day and they had cleared out over five acres. Most of it was solid rock and they had flattened it out smooth, perhaps it was an airstrip

That chisel must have been the best in the land for in seconds, it had chewed straight through the chains. So fast in fact that Calvin now sported two small cut marks where the teeth made contact with his flesh.

"Alright!" holding his wrists, "I'm fre….." he was suddenly jerked away by a person towards the back slope of the hill.

Coughing a bit, Calvin looked around to see his rescuer. Vision was blurry from the sweat, heat, and dust. Pressing the palm of his hand into his eyes, he rubbed to clear it up. Finished, he looked at the person laying there next to him. It was large. As his vision focused, the body was curvy, with numerous stripes all over it's body with a orange flesh…Hobbes!

"Hobbes!" Exclaiming loudly.

Hobbes quickly silenced him, "Shhh" holding up a finger to his mouth.

"What….I thought….aren't you dead?"

To which Hobbes spat, "Do I look dead?"

A guard came about in search of his prisoner. At his feet lay the chains, empty. Alarmed, the guard shouted out for the corporal of the guard, brought up his rifle to a ready position, and took several steps towards them.

Holding their breaths, the two watched with wide eyes as the guard came closer. Each step they could hear their hearts pounding in their chests. Just when he was about to step on their heads, Hobbes leapt up. The guard was surprised to say the least. He turned the rifle to meet this threat, but before he could get off a shot, Hobbes parried the barrel away with his left arm and sank the claws of his right into the chest and teeth into the neck of the cat whom crumbled onto his back by the weight of his predator.

"Over there! Quickly!" someone shouted. They were coming.

Hobbes rose up and began to run, picking up his friend along the way. It was easy for the tiger to sprint. With great leaps and bounds, he hurtled through the fields with ease. Far behind was Calvin, weak from hunger and thirst.

"Wait up!" he constantly shouted.

Far away from the guards, from the prisons, the tiger finally stopped behind a line of shrubs and bushes, well concealed from prying eyes. Panting for breath, his companion finally arrived to sit and catch his breath. Offering a captured canteen, Hobbes allowed them some time to rest up before continuing what appeared to be south.

"What happened to you?" Calvin asked after taking a sip of cool water.

"That's a long story, and I'm not going to tell you until you grow up," Hobbes said sullenly.

"Why not?"

"Because you would not understand."

"Were you in Muncie?" Calvin asked.

"Yes," came his reply.

"You were a spy? Quickly, tell me, what did you see?"

"Many things," there was no excitement in Hobbes voice. It was low tone, gravely and spoke like a veteran. Quite the opposite compared to Calvin whom was about to pop like a cork.

"Well…what? Speak!" Calvin insisted, nudging his partner whom had his eyes fixated on the town.

A moment later, he moved onto his side and looked at the child that was his friend, "That fatso" he told him, "is working on new weapons. Trainloads of materials are in town right now and he's constructing weapons, unbelievable ones."

"Like what?" eyes growing as big as hub caps.

After a moment's hesitation, the tiger gave in, "nuclear missiles and even a portal."

"Wait. Say what?" grasping Hobbes' shoulder.

"That fatso has been plotting to split our world into two and he just may have done it," Hobbes began to trail off.

"What do you mean?" asking further.

Before the tiger could speak, a bullet whined over head. Too close. They sprinted for and jumped into a half water filled ditch.

"Alright, now tell me, what is he doing?" Calvin yelled.

"He's making all sorts of weapons. Nuclear missiles and portals that could take us into alternate dimensions."

"Really? Cool" the boy smiled.

"No, not cool," Hobbes growled in response. "We have to get back and tell Dilger. If we don't, those dogs will walk right into the trap."

Nodding into agreement, Calvin lifted his head up just enough so that his eyes see above the rim. It looked clear. "Alright, go" he whispered and the two jumped out and scurried away.

Miles away from the duo, Dilger, the one they sought, was closing the gap on them. Inching along with his back pressed a fire singed building that was part of the old depot, he could hear the voices of a group of individuals around the corner. A quick glance proved it to be true. Cats. Lots of them. Must be a group of deserters or stragglers whom had fallen behind when the main body retreated back into the defenses of Muncie. Didn't matter, they were the enemy and they were not going to surrender. So far, they didn't detect their presence. Looking back at his group of followers the were ready to go.

"Come on!" he ordered before leaping out. With a wild shout and firing wildly, the group charged upon their stunned enemy whom at first were frozen in terror then broke off in every direction. Two tried to run right by Dilger, but were tackled and taken prisoner while another five or six either where they stood or not far away. The rest, it was not confirmed, escaped to their havens. Did not matter, regroup was the key. When the area was secured, the rubble was cleared so that supply trucks could come up. Sporadic mortar rounds landed here and there, but for the most part, the cats did not contest as the dogs solidified their new holdings. The depot was there's again. They moved forward and took their old trenches with ease, Rats had fully withdrawn to his own line. They had failed to cut off that cat from Garfield, but they had retaken what was there's. It was gratifying to have a victory under their belt once again. With that victory came the spoils. A heaping mess of destroyed and burning vehicles, tanks, bloated bodies, and howling wounded. All of which the dogs had to clean up. Instead, they pressed into service enemy prisoners of war to do it. Why work when you can have someone else do it?

Garfield shared his sentiments with that entirely as he strolled into a large enclave of earth far north of Muncie. Covering that enclave was a warehouse and it was buzzing with activity on the inside. Why the buzz? Center piece to this laboratory was a monster of metal. A shiny steel ring ten inches in diameter curved into the sky in a fifty foot diameter semicircle. Studded for every ten feet on that were large red white spheres. The circle rested on a slab of cold concrete and were wired to a entire network of computers, servers, and generator. Flanked on both sides by his aides, the leader bore a dominating presense that attracted the eyes and attention of everyone as he boldly waltzed into the warehouse.

"Is it ready?" Garfield asked the foreman

"Yes, sir" he replied, trying to hold his nervousness in check.

"Good, plot a course and I will enter it," standing before the machine.

"Uh, sir, our computers are unable to plot a location in a alternate dimension. We simply do not know where it is exactly." foreman replied as others began to feed juice into the wires.

"then open it up and I'll see for myself." Garfield said.

Both of their attention was diverted when the white lights around the circle came on with near blinding intensity. "Isn't it glorious?" Garfield shouted. No one could hear him as the machine roared to life. No problems aroused. Power was ample and constant. Workers on the computers were amazed to see their needles spike to their up most as the lights glowed brighter and then became one in the center of the circle.

"Now, all will bow before me," Garfield yelled as he stepped forth into the light.

At once, the equipment powered down. "He's in" the foreman shouted.

"Where did he go?" an aide asked, approaching the console.

Before there was a response, there came a scream from behind. "Get them!"

Looking about, the cats found themselves under attack by the Grays whom were firing and heaving grenades through the windows of the warehouse. The giant sliding metal door opened and figures came in, firing off their weapons.

"Where the hell is Percy?" aides cursed as they ran for cover. That bushwhacker had failed to prevent those human guerillas from infiltrating into the lion's den and Miller wanted to slap them in the face for their incompetence.

Most escaped going through back doors or windows, cowards. Some could not move fast enough and were captured. There was no loss of life on either side despite the explosions and small arms fire. Satisfied that the area was secured, Miller strolled across the floor. Tall stacks of boxes, shelves of computers, and miles of wire were all about him. He could not put it together what this place was all about, despite having eavesdropped on the place the night before.

That changed when he ran into the steel ring of the portal. What was it? They did not see Garfield as he entered and once it was deactivated, it did not look like much. Private Hays climbed up to where the console was and looked at all of the instruments. Coming up to his side, Sean wanted to take a look for himself. Both of them were fascinated by the math and equations that had been done. The amount of energy that had surged through was extraordinary.

Seeing them, Miller approached the two and asked, "What is this, exactly?"

"It's a machine," Hays told him.

"A what?"

"It's a machine. Apparently, it's able to open up a portal of sorts big enough for someone to enter it. Judging by the information here, someone already did."

"Who was it?" Miller asked looking at the skeleton of the machine.

Two prisoners were brought up, one was a worker. The captain asked for them for questioning. Both were clearing scared, but the worker seemed somewhat relieved. "He went through there." he commented.

"Who did?" Miller asked.

"Our leader, and now you will all perish."

"What do you mean?" the captain asked.

"He has entered an alternate dimension and when he returns, he will bring weapons of unequal proportions."

"You mean nukes?"

The prisoner laughed, "Better. Those nukes we have will be mere toys compared to what he could obtain."

Miller was stunned. Nukes? Were cats building nuclear weapons? As he pondered the thought, he snapped to have the two removed. When they were gone, Sean asked for the captain to come to where he was.

The two looked at a monitor. On it was a rather distant map of the continental United States. Where Muncie was, was a hollow red circle and a second circle appeared near the Atlantic ocean, only this one was solid and pulsating.

"What is that?" Miller asked.

"A second portal?"

"I don't think so." Sean said and he looked at the instruments, "This isn't a portal towards an alternate dimension. It's a teleportation machine. Those klutzes screwed up big time. All of his molecules were scrambled and sent like a radio signal to another place."

"Where did he go?"

"I would say it was Boston." looking at Miller, whom replied, "Why did he go there?"

"Why the hell am I here!" Garfield fumed.

When he stepped out of the portal, it promptly closed behind him. Looking about, he was in a vacant field. In the distance were some buildings, but he was alone. This did not appear to be an alternate dimension. Everything looked modern. Where were those hovercrafts, phasers, or other science fiction trinkets? None, they were not here. Alone, the great leader sought to locate another cat to link up with. He hoped that the revolution had spread this far and perhaps he could establish his headquarters here. As he walked through a sea of brush and dust, the leader commented on how dull the sky looked compared to the country side he had just left. Everything was glum, faded, worn, lonely.

It was such a journey that the fat cat could not go any further and collapsed next to a rail over pass to rest his weary paws. Looking about at the neighborhood he was at, Garfield was surprised to see humans, a few of them, milling about without care in the world. There was one women, middle aged, shoulder ength hair, tending to her garden. She did not notice the fat cat and wanted to keep it that way. Behind those rail road tracks was a shabby looking dwelling, tall, thin, dank, dull, like a haunted mansion. Perfect, a deserted place to coop up for the night. The leader stealthy slipped away as the women watered her lilies and daisies that Garfield hoped to romp through.

Fifteen minutes later, a paw reaches up towards the top step of the house, "Steps, why are there always steps?" he panted, tounge dangling from his open mouth, "I must have climbed Everest."

At the top, at last, he straightened up and, being polite, he knocked on the flaky wood. No answer. Must be deserted. He opened the door by jumping up and struggled with the knob. With a click and push, he gained entrance and was greeted every aqwardly.

The house wasn't deserted at all. There was furniture, rugs, upholstery, paintings, depicting the same figure in every one dressed in Shakespeare garb, a old man with long nose, gray eye brows and a balding forehead.

"Hello?" Garfield called out, his voice echoed through the residence.

No response. Owners must be out. He took one step further inside when a voice from above answered his thoughts.

"Well, hello, hello, hello, little kitty…"

Warm blood turned to ice in a instant. His eyes looked up to see a tall, thin man standing on tarance above him. It was the very man in the painints, only this time, he was weaing formal clothes, a black coat with long tails and near tight trousers and Italian shoes. Hardly a match, everything about this man was wrong, but Garfield could not object as the man kept his eyes on him and stepped down a staircase to his right.

"My, my, my…a talking cat. What a clever trick. First I am stuck with a monkey and two mediocre adorable children, and now, a talking cat has just entered my home. I bet you want a place to stay for the night."

Garfield could not utter a word as the man came down to his floor, stood practically toe to toe and bent down at the waist to look into the leader's large eyes.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue? HAHAHAHA" boisterous laugher.

Who was this quack? Surely he was the owner, but he was a total nut job.

Minutes of laughter later calmed down as the two resided inside the living room. "I am Count Olaf," he boasted, striking a fanciful pose, head resting on his right shoudler, right arm outstretched towards the gloomy sky, fingers trying to capture a piece of the overcast, "Actor extraordinaire, humanitarian, and compassionate guardian."

"Guardian?" Garfield raised, "Guardian of what?"

"Oh children," Olaf called out loud.

Moments later, three children, a girl, about fourteen, a boy, about half that, and a tiny baby girl, only about two entered the dining room. Garfield looked at them, puzzled. Two hideous children and a monkey.

"Why don't you make dinner for our quest?" Olaf spoke gesturing to the fat orange blob.

The girl spoke, "But, we have never made dinner before…"

"Now, children," Olaf interrupted, "That is no way to treat our guest. You have till eight o' clock."

A glance at the clock showed it to be thirty till eight.

"But, it's already seven thirty…" the boy began to say before Olaf cut him off. "Eight o' clock!"

The three children sulked away into the kitchen.

"those are the orphans. Poor souls. I offered them my free hand and they are nothing more than leeches. Vicious ones at that."

"Why did you take them up?" asked Garfield, sitting in a chipped, polished dining chair, sipping on a glass of wine, "What happened to their parents.

"Fire. They were consumed in a fire along with their house." Olaf replied rather passively, staring at one of his portraits that decorated the wall. "Now that they are with me, their fortune will be mine."

"A fortune you say?" raising up an eyebrow and a smile. "How big of a fortune?"

"I'm not too sure," Olaf replied.

"Then, how do you know it's big? It could be only a few dollars or not there at all?"

"I know the Baudelaire family, and they did stash their dough away for their children. However, I will not be able to touch that fortune until the oldest turns eighteen."

"Which one?" Garfield asked.

"Violet, the oldest. Not the monkey"

This day was horrible, but the next one was even worse. Garfield stayed with the children as Olaf's honored guest and he was treated as a king, pampered by Violet and fed by Klaus, the boy. It was enjoyable, but Garfield was neglecting what he had left behind.

There was anarchy.

When news spread that Garfield had been teleported, there was celebration, then Miller destroyed the portal and fled before Percy could restrain them. Like dominos, there came a rapid break down in the chain of command. There was no response from the leader for some time now, being a week. Now General Rats abide to take control of the movement while those on the general staff fought to claim such an honor. For the average cat, it was the bleakest the revolution had been since it had first begun.

Retreating was bad enough, but now, after Rats had fallen back to the original Muncie defenses, many followers decided that after not being fed and seeing their friends being slain, enough was enough and deserted. In alley ways and abandoned homes, individuals formed bands with other deserters and gangs roamed at will through the excrement that was once a town, praying on the weak to survive. Human workers, ones that labor in the factories to produce weapons of war were particular fodder for their eyes. To them, they were the cause of their pain. A crack down came when Regulars, the leader's personal body guards, armed with shot guns and clubs marched down the streets, breaking up meetings and capturing leaders. Fighting one war was terrible, fighting two was a nightmare. There was deceit and rumors abound on just about everything. It seemed hopeless, for many to fight on and the ranks began to diminish. Just a week after returning back to Muncie, half of Rat's command had deserted.

Not the same could be said for Dilger and his dogs. A heavy rain was falling on a day he decided to launch a raid against the enemies main line. For some time, he had kept a watch on them and noticed that there was diminishing amounts of activity. Prisoners and deserters also added to his knowledge that there was a break down in command and morale. It was all to perfect. Though he was still licking previous wounds, he gathered up his old command to give them an option. This Shepard wanted to use a unit that was experienced and could be depended upon. There were only a dozen left after all that battles, skirmishes, and sickness, only two faces looked familiar to him as they sat around a dying fire in the rain.

"I don't have to tell you what is going on. It's apparent to us all."

"The war is almost over," Sergeant Brumbar nodded.

"Yes, and there is a chance we can end this," Dilger added.

Soldiers had heard this story before. One more mission, one more charge, and the war will end. Then they could return to their homes, cardboard homes in the dark, dank alleys.

"Any of you wish to back out now, can do so. I won't hold it against you."

He looked at all of their faces. Tired, hungry, yearning for sleep, their eyes had bags and were red like fire. Clutching their cleaned weapons, they did not budge.

Earlier on, a similar group of cats were huddled together.

"Do we have any food, sir?" a private asked, holding his incredibly thin stomach. Seven others, all with poor skin tone, matted hair, red eyes, and empty stomachs.

"No fish, no meat, no milk, if you want water, just open you mouth and look up at the sky." the officer laughed.

It was safer to be outside the city. Here, inside their trench, the group huddled together for warmth as the rain continued on. No sentry was posted through the night. If someone wanted to leave, they were free to do so and if anyone wanted to come in and taken them prisoner, they could do the same, it did not matter.

Dilger's raiding party did not set out until an hour before dawn because of the rain. When it let up, the mud nearly consumed their prone bodies as they crawled forward towards the main line. To their surprise, no sentries were present. Brumbar took the lead, two at his side. Just before the trench, he paused to listen, no voices. Must be asleep or they were not there. Rolling on his side, he motioned to his two to throw a grenade each at his signal.

Three bombs rained down from the sky.

When they erupted, mud, wood, and pieces of fur and meat were flung into the sky.

"Go!" Brumbar shouted, rising up to his feet. The mud was so thick that he moved and fell flat on his face. Trying again, he fell and made his way by crawling to and into the trench. Others in the bunch had better luck.

Shocked at first, the cats could only look up to see the Shepards pounce on them.

"surrender!" they demanded thrusting the muzzle of their muskets into their chests into their foe. One pleased cat laughed, "what took you so long?"

Fifty prisoners taken and sent to the rear. It was so easy that at first there was concern of a trap. There was no trap. The cats did not care anymore. Under guard, the prisoners were walked passed the old depot where Dilger was waiting anxiously for word on their success. Grenade blasts were muffled by the depth of the trenches and the raid was only to snatch a few more prisoners and knock out any enemy fortifications to knock the cats off balance. Instead, when Dilger saw there were only two guards for those fifty prisoners, Dilger asked where were the rest of his team, "Waiting for you in Muncie," a guard replied.

They could see the chaos that had resulted from Garfield's reign and were horrified for those that were trapped inside. Homes were burned to the ground by the gangs, waste had built up several feet in height in the streets. "Good God" Dilger gasped, "We have entered into Hell."

Violet agreed to that as she opened another container of cleaning acid and poured it onto the floor and began to scrub it into the wood. Her brother took on an immense amount of filthy dishes while Sunny dried them.

The leader lay on the table, basking the sunlight coming from the hole in the roof. It was peaceful here, and the sun was warm. As the children worked, Garfield rested. Olaf remained secluded in "the Tower." No one was to enter, under any circumstances.

Klaus could see, from the window in the kitchen, the entire back yard, the theater as Olaf called it. It was really just waist high sage brush. What he couldn't see was the movement lurking around them coming closer and closer with each breath he took. Sunny could hear something and ventured away from her task towards the front window. It was the same there, nothing to be seen.

A chill went up Klaus's spine though. He began to pick up a sense that something bad was going to happen and went in search of his sister.

"Violet, something's wrong." he told her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, one hand covering her nose and mouth from the stench of the acid.

BANG!

The front door was thrown open with force. At the same time, the back door was kicked in. Leaping up to her feet with fright, Violet rushed over to scoop up Sunny in her arms. At her side was Klaus.

"Get down!" a figure, shoving his way past the children.

A team moved past them, into the kitchen, living room, then into the dining room . Second team went up towards the tower. Count Olaf and troupe in a sit down to come up with the next idea for a play. When the dogs entered the count stood up with a chalice pressed against his lips like a trumpet.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Get down!" the dogs yelled, fanning out to cover the entire room. Members of the troupe rose up as well with puzzled looks.

No one budged.

Enraged, the count threw down his chalice and approached the animals. Hands at his waist, chin up and out, he demanded an explanation for this interruption. His answer came with a boom from a shot gun. The round did not contain buck or bird shot, but bean bags. One of these struck the count's chest and his thin figure crumbled to the ground. Sadly, he wasn't dead, just had the wind knocked out of him. Others at his side gave up without a struggle.

Emerging from the house into the glum of day, the prisoners were lined up beside a military truck. Flanked on both sides by armed guards, they were searched. Each one bore a tattoo one an alternate part of their body, an eye with lashes. What was it?

A human stood over as the dogs searched. Off to the side, the orphans watched with terror. Dogs with rifles? He was clad in military fatigues, a gaitor neck around his face. He approached them to put them at ease. "relax children," in a calm, soothing voice, "we will not harm you."

"What are you after?" Klaus asked him.

"The one they call Garfield. Which one is he?"

"None. Garfield is a orange cat. Last I saw him, he was asleep on the dinner table. Why are you after him?"

"It may sound ridiculous but he is the leader of a rebellion in Indiana."

"A what?" Violet questioned when a dog approached.

"Sir, we searched the house from top to bottom. He's not in there. What shall we do with it now?"

"torch the place!" the officer ordered, much to the delight of the commandos and the orphans. Flares were brought out, ignited, and then thrown into every window and door way of the mansion . In minutes, the dilapidated scenery was put alright and burned with intensity.

"what do we do with the children?" the dog asked.

The officer looked at the three children. Their clothes were old and faded, rent and worn. They were scared, as clear as day seeing armed animals around them. It was gratifying to see Count Olaf be put in the back of a truck yes, along with his entire troupe, but they were scared of animal soldiers.

Herded into a truck of their own, the orphans were able to speak with the officer again as they fled from the scene of the crime.

"Who are you?" Violet asked from the back seat. The officer was up front of her, a driver to his side, human.

"That doesn't matter. What does is we need to have you three out of here as quickly as possible."

"Why? What's going on?" she begged.

"Cats are in revolt. We are here to stop them."

"What?" Klaus baulked

"The cats are in revolt to take over. The one that stayed here, Garfield, is their leader. We tracked him down and now, we have captured several of his ring leaders."

The children looked at each other, stunned.

Garfield has slipped through their fingers. Where he lays now is uncertain but the dogs are still unwilling to give up. He was alive. As long as he was, there was no rest for them. He could easily slip away to a dank alley and gather up another clan to start an uprising once more. Boston was far more dense than Muncie, and in it were hundreds upon thousands of strays and domesticated pets already under arms, just waiting for a leader to show them to the light.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes, nor Garfield and cast. They are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. The Baudelaire orphans, Count Olaf are owned by Lemony Snickets. I do, however, own everyone else, including Captain Miller and his Grays.

So the cats had finally drummed up enough nerve to rise up. Though it was brave of them, it was foolish. As they entered the fort via the main gate that was barricade with a strong abates and dry ditches, the walls of Fort Arrow were enough to block out the sun. Concrete walls, better than anything yet seen were towering over them. Seven feet thick in most places, they could withstand all most anything thrown at them. Arranged in a pentagon shape, the fort had buildings boarding around the main compound, in it's center where a large, thirty foot aluminum pole mounted a storm flag of the United States. As the trucks came to a stop, the orphans stepped down from the cabin. A soldier led them away to their own special quarters. Hot, tired, filthy, our trio walked across the complex, marveling at the size of this sprawling complex.

Prisoners were taken out and handled to a pen where they could be questioned and kept. Quarters were prepared for the orphans, next to a mobile battery of artillery. Sentries walked across the wooden roof while the concrete walls kept them safe from the heat. Air conditioners were not available at the time, but they were well to do for the moment. This fort was impressive in size and there were soldiers every where. None of them knew how long they were going to be there and they prayed it wouldn't be a duration, just as long as a strong lock separated them from their guardian. Olaf sat and simmered in his cell, segregated from the rest of his troupe. He was formulating a plan, everyone knew it, to escape, but it wasn't going to happen.

"How long do think this will go on?" Klaus asked as he watched soldiers march about in the compound.

"Not sure, but no war can go on forever," Violet replied as she held Sunny in her arms as she sat on her cot.

"You clearly do not know that 116 year war," Klaus grumbled as he continued to watch. He did not know how long it had been going on before, but they had been at that prison for too long, six weeks, and they were near skeletons by malnutrition. Thanks to a generous soldier, they received a generous amount of rations which included mashed potatoes, macaroni, cold drinks, and clean forks. It was the best meal of their lives as they savored the sweet smell and taste of food that did not have phlegm in it. Oh what joy to see their faces as they partook on this bountiful feast.

The night was cold. Huddled under wool blankets, the orphans felt warm as their parents looked down upon them. It was quiet. The night was clear, thousands of stars twinkled and the moon was absent giving a sweet, cool night to see the heavens.

Next day, men were up in chorus. Shouting and yelling, there was much excitement in their voices. What was it. Klaus went out to investigate leaving Violet tending to a still teething Sunny whom gnawed off one of the legs to the table they ate off of.

"Nice, you little beaver," Violet smiled at her sister.

"Tastes like cardboard," Sunny laughed.

When their brother returned, his face was pale and a smile hung on it. What news did he bring? Surrender. The cats, they were giving themselves up. White flags were appearing. On mass. Why though? Baltimore was just a backstage compared to action in Muncie. Something must have happened. To what they were not sure. But the news was affirm. The cats were giving themselves up. Hundreds of them came to the fort to give up their weapons and to thrown themselves at the mercy of their captors. Why though? Why the sudden change? Guess their fortune just ran out. Klaus did not care for combat. He was glad to not have partake in such events that Calvin had. This boy preferred to sink his face into a book than look down the sights of a rifle. Joyous as it was to see the fighting coming to an end, there was no official ending to it. No mass surrender ceremony. Those that came to the fort did so at their own risk. Similar actions were taking place all over the world. No punishment to the ring leader though. To the residents of Muncie, once the cats gave themselves up, the residents returned to their homes and began to rebuild immediately. Garfield was gone. For how long was not to be certain. He had disappeared into the abyss where demons and monsters lurked. Everyone else left in the light was forced to clean up the immense mess he had left behind. Homes were shattered, families ripped apart, communities shambles.

Cleaning up would take awhile. Bodies had to be removed and buried. Graveyards were chalked full. Felines were cast out into mass pits on the outskirts of town or burned. The heavy stink of their burning flesh was enough to make people sick as the black smoke hung in the air. They, like everything else, would go away. The forts and battlefields faded with time as the winds from the east and heavy rains from the heavens cast down their hand to cleanse the earth. They would disappear as well, to be forgotten in the minds of people whom were not there. Unlike other battles of old where markers and plaques showed bravery, this rebellion had none of that. Unlike this rebellion, there was a deep sense of disgust in the minds of humans. How could have let this happen? Their felines, ones that they cared for had risen up against them and the dogs were nearly pushed aside. The best they could do was to try and push this event out of their mind and act like it never happened. Not exactly an easy feat. Calvin for one was an active participate and seen the carnage of battle. It made war movies look timid.

Not to worry about the boy for right now for Calvin was rejoined with his mother and father, though their house was but a smoldering ruin. It could rebuilt. Holding Hobbes in his arms, Calvin walked through the black charred ruins of his room. His bed was in the kitchen having collapsed through the ceiling. "What a place to sleep," Calvin smiled, "Now I can take my snacks into bed as I please."

Hobbes groaned as he looked through the cabinets for any surviving tuna.

Their lives would have to start anew. They were lucky. Others had nothing left.

Susie was one of them. Though accounts about her actions during the conflict were vague, she managed to stay active and contributed her part to quelling Garfield. Her house was severely damaged and required mass amounts of restoration. Luckily her father, an officer in the Army, acquired a large amount of wealth with investments and other businesses thereby granting a well trained carpenter to rebuild their home, if only they could rebuild their lives. Other homes had new windows and doors. Food was available at last at supermarkets and pet catchers roamed through the alleyways. Everything seemed to be back to normal. Still, no one could shake the indelible feeling that was once was. Factories once again opened, governments went into session and laws were enacted and repelled. Everywhere across America, the rebellion was in retreat. Armies were destroyed in action or surrendered after hearing the news of Garfield's absence. It was too much for them to bear. No over all leader, without guidance or leadership, the armies began to splinter immediately as factions began to tend with each other rather than fight for the over all goal against dogs or humans. Taking advantage of this, dogs took back the cities and towns.

One week after his departure, the revolution ceased to exist. There was nothing left to show for what could have been. Somewhere in the rubble that was Jon's house, whom was added to a list of missing people, was a map showing a pristine palace that was to be Garfield's. Marble columns would stretch up to the heavens. A gold plated elevator would take guests up to the higher floors because he hated to walk and climbing the stairs would be considered exercise. Polished oak busts of his head would be placed at every convenience as a remembrance of the great leader. Arrogance showed everywhere. Not only were Nermal and Arlene gone due to his hand, but all others, his friends, those at the house pet society had black balled his name and it never to be mentioned again. Odie was now an orphan himself and now a veteran to a certain degree had to wonder the streets some time before he was at last picked up by a sympathetic old couple down the street from his old home. They did not have a child of their own but they cared for him as if he was one. He had a warm home at last.

Leaders of this rebellion, those that could be captured alive, were brought up on charged. Sitting in the cold court room side by side were Violet, Klaus, and Sunny. Arraigned on charges of conspiracy and harboring a fugitive from justice, Count Olaf put up a remarkable display of ignorance. He plead not guilty through it then by sobbing to the judge, pleading for mercy. Justice Strauss, his own neighbor, would have none of it. Though his blatant arrogance, Olaf wrote off on his right to council and to be judged by a jury of his peers. Instead, he wanted a bench trial. Not the best move. Fed up with his charades, threw the book at him, confining the would be actor to life in prison along with his entire entourage. But, to the orphan's horror, none of them would see a day in a jail cell, for they flew the coup and had not been seen since. For Violet, Sunny, and Klaus, the war was still going on while an aurora of peace now cloaked the world. As long as that old man remained at large, there would be no absolute peace. To where they would go was finally answered as Mr. Poe produced a sheet with a name. Dwayne Miller of Indiana. He would be their new guardian. Better start saying a prayer for these lovable three before they board a train bound for half way across the country.

Having no additional clothes save those on their backs, a gracious mother and father gave them clothes that belonged to their own children whom had outgrown them, then it was a ticket, some more hot food, and it was off they go to another guardian, this time, there were to be no foul ups. Yet.

Alrighty, now that you know how everyone in this story has settled, now it was time to take you away from it. Now go to a different place. It was far from Indiana, far from America, far from civilization. It was Garfield. He was still alive. He was intact, but his followers were not. There were only a few of them left. Diehards whom had no where else to turn to. Rejected, they waited as their honorable leader traced into a catacomb of ice. Where they were was a secret. Huddled together to share warmth, followers cast their weary eyes as the fat tabby waltzed into center stage.

"My leader. The revolution has died. Cats everywhere are being put back into chains." an officer cried as he followed Garfield through one of many tunnels. Each one was hastily made, low over head. So low that they had to hunch their bodies over to fit through. His fame massive, Garfield had to suck in his stomach in some spots. At the end of this tunnel was a dome shape room with one hole carved through the ceiling from which a beam of bright light came dome to shower the room with light.

"Nonsense," Garfield replied nonchalantly while his furry orange body was wrapped up in a thick parka and thick seal boots. "It has only went through an intermission."

As the two looked on, a field was solid ice began to move and transform into individual bodies. "My new army will over take the world," he laughed as goons rose up from the ice floor….

The End?


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer, I do not own the characters to Calvin and Hobbes or Garfield. They are owned by Bill Watterson and Jim Davis respectfully. I do own Dwayne Miller and the Grays. Also, Violet and Klaus are owned by Lemony Snickets.

With the war over, there was no need for the great many rifles, ammunition, and cannons that littered the land. Much of it was collected and destroyed or melted down and recycled, however, Miller's Company stowed away their stash. Fanatics they were not, just cautious. Vowing not to disarm his company until Garfield was captured and dealt with, Miller made sure that they were ready for a sequel even though everyone around him dismissed such a notion. All over Muncie and Indianapolis, the townsfolk were retroactive in the good old life before the war. Buildings were constructed, roads repaired, and the forts dismantled and paved over with grass and wheat that grew high into the sky, feeding off the blood and meat of those slain and plowed over.

Residing in the suburbs of Indianapolis, Miller walked down the street in search of his place. His unit was temporarily disbanded as of yet to tend to their families. There was no need for them now. They Grays were gone and now, fathers and son were back again. To his shock, Miller returned to his home to find it still standing in once piece. Really a surprise considering several of his soldier's homes were virtually flattened as were his neighbors. Yet, no one had dared touch his. Walking through his dilapidated front yard, where crab grass over ran everything, he took out a set of keys and jimmied the lock. Placing one foot inside, his head turned to see three children standing in the driveway and one fat man with a derby style hat behind them...

"You are their new guardian" Mr. Poe informed them.

Sitting at his dining table, Miller looked at their faces. Each one. A girl, a boy, and a beaver of sorts chewing on the table's edge.

"Where are their parents?" Miller asked.

"Dead. I'm afraid" with a sad voice. "A fire"

"Whoops"

"I trust you can handle these three until they are of proper age where they can take care of themselves." Mr. Poe asked.

"I've handled men in the field" Miller responded with a smile.

"Yes, but can they handle you?"

Even though he was sole guardian of the Baudelaire orphans and militia commander, Dwayne Miller felt an obligation to both and spent as much time as possible to caring for the children. Though only twenty years of age, he was the father the children so needed. First step was to put them into school. Money was tight and unable to teach them himself, Miller was forced to place the children into a public school where he hoped they could sharpen their minds.

It rolled to a stop along the curve and the door swung open. A tall, thin man with a ruffled red beard and thick glasses sat in the driver's seat, holding with one hand the steering wheel, the other the door opener.

"Come on" he muttered in a low voice beckoning Violet and Klaus aboard.

Stepping cautiously up those small steps, he looked over to the left to see two rows of seats. A few were empty, others half filled with children about their age. None bothered to look up to see what new arrivals had come aboard, heads were down, looking at their knees or books, one was listening to a CD player. Three seats down, both were able to pick a empty seat and parked it. Klaus sat next to the window and watched as the bush lurched then rolled forward. Miller stood holding Sunny in his arms as they drifted past. Taking in a deep breath, he sighed and looked over at his sister whom looked back and cracked a smile. With very little in the way of money, Miller was able to afford the basic school supplies to fill up two small knapsacks for the orphans, it would have to do for now.

Arriving on school grounds, there were many, perhaps 100, children running about in the fields surrounding the main building. This school went from the sixth grade on up to senior year. Complex as it was with all this assortment of youngsters, there were only about 200 in all. Many families were still displaced from the war, some would come back eventually yet others will not. At the main door, there was a teacher, medium in stature with long flowing blonde hair bound up behind her head and bright blue eyes, she welcomed the two whom were unfamiliar.

"Welcome you two" she said cheerfully.

"Hello" Violet replied, Klaus remained shy and quiet.

"And whom are you?" she asked.

"I'm Violet and this is my brother Klaus. We are new here."

"Oh good. Where are you from?"

"Boston, Massachusetts" Violet replied.

"Oh, I have never been there. Well, let me see, I have a Klaus Baudelaire for our sixth grade and a Violet Baudelaire for our ninth grade."

"That will be us" Violet responded, Klaus still remained silent, eyes staring blankly at the pair of doors.

"Then if you will follow me, I'll show you to your classes."

Time passed for seven and half hours and we shift back to Miller's house where the former captain was tuning up his beaten and damaged car that he hoped to sell for profit. Sunny sat on a shelf gnawing on a screw driver giggling when he finally came out from underneath with a head blanketed in oil.

"I think it has a leak" Miller commented.

As he stood up from the trolley, two figures appeared through the open garage door. It was his two children.

"how was school?" he asked cleaning his filthy hands with an equally filthy rag.

"There's a weird little boy there" Violet raised an eyebrow.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, he brought a stuffed tiger and stowed it under his desk. All day, he kept whispering to it for answers."

"Oh joy"

Klaus though remained tight lipped. He refused to give out any information about what life was treating him. Ever since moving here he was quiet and evasive, no matter how hard Miller tried to be or coax a word out. Instead, he closed up inside his room that he shared with Violet and hid underneath his bed where he read by flashlight.

"What will I do with him?" Miller asked and he brought Sunny inside.

"He's just stubborn" Violet replied, "Give him time and he'll warm up to you."

For nearly four years, harmony hung over Indiana and time moved very slowly. Each day came and went like a year and everyone loved it, save one. Far removed from Massachusetts with Count Olaf, Klaus seemed isolated while his two sisters basked in the warm sun rays. He refused to know Miller or his past, laying underneath his bed reading or attending school. Supper was taken underneath a shut door. Miller was about all used up in trying to be friendly. The girls liked him, why not Klaus?

One day, the boy managed to pull himself from out from his fort and went exploring around this small house he called home. Living room, dining room, bath, no library. The only books there appeared to be that he craved were in Miller's small room. A simple bed with a closet, night stand with a small lamp, television on a dresser and a neat stack of multicolored books resting near some pillows. Seeing no one else around, Klaus approached and carefully picked the top one turned it over and read the title, "The Grays" Curious, he opened it up to the first page where, inscribed in red ink,

_Captain Dwayne Miller, Gray Commander_

The children already knew some about Miller's past from what Mr. Poe has given him, a soldier during the insurection and at first was reluctant to hand over the children in a hostile situation, but that descision was reversed over how rapidly calm was restored. Little did they know he was a commander. Wanting to read on, Klaus was interupted by the sound of a door opening. Quickly, he restored the novel to it's rightful place and crawled back underneath his bed.

Klaus was stubborn but could be over come with time and patience. Unlike foes from the past that could surrender or flee, the boy had no such choice. Trapped here just as in the mansion, he tried to hide away from tormentors, sinking into books, into an alternate world where everything was back to the way it was. Fantasy. That is what it was. Not real, yet he persisted to bask in the words of authors about alternate world, demons, and angels, unicorns, and castles. The whole, real, world was outside his window passing him by and not once did Klaus bother to look out the glass panes to see his two sisters playing in the green clover grass outside. At least for Violet, she was safe. Before this, she was almost married to Count Olaf whm schemed to steal the family fortune and banish them, but that plan fell apart. Could all of this be part of another scheme? Somewhere, Olaf will pop up again and try to trick his way to Miller whom would be too foolish to see through such cheap disquises. For Violet at least, her misery was over.

Then the nightmares began…

A shrill cry pierced the darkness one night. Charging down the hall, pistol in hand, Miller threw open the orphan's door to find Violet sitting on the edge of her bed, blanket draped over her shoulders and held together by one hand in front, Violet was sweating. Cold as it was outside, beads of perspiration were running down her forehead and sides. Another nightmare, the fourth in as many days, had robbed her of sleep this night. It has been a frequent occurrence in the Miller house hold for Violet to wake up screaming practically able to pin point the moment, 3:32 a.m. For what reason lingered in the minds of the once militia captain for the girl was evasive in answering. Aain, he would have to use his persistence as he had done on Klaus to break through this barrier. Children as they might be, everyone had a weakness. Unlike Olaf, Miller cared deeply for the children. After seeing such destruction, some of it by his hand, he wanted to sow the fields for a future generation that would solve their problems with minds and not fists.

Another night, another scare. Deprived of sleep for nearly a week, Miller finally confided in the girl to speak. Over a bowl of ice cream, she nervously played with, and Klaus and Sunny listening from down the hall, Miller asked what was it that would cause such a fright. It was Garfield and Olaf.

"Before that attack," she told them, "that set us free, we were forced into relative slavery. Poor food, rags to live in, filth and vermin were rampant while cleaning and worshiping the ground in which the two kings walked on".

Such was a case when a feast was prepared after the fat cat's arrival. Turkey with all the trimmings, mashed potatoes, butter, bread, cranberry sauce, wince, sweets, and desert. For the children, moldy bread and crumbs left over. A tear rolled down her cheek and into the bowl. Ther eare no words one can say that would make all of this vanish. What can you tell a child that has been through what they forsee as hell? One person's perseption can be different. Being a slave was hellish but so was a militia commander. There had to be a way for a twenty year old commander to become a real father, that would come when he learned how to cradle a child that was dying on the inside.


End file.
